Bodice Ripper
by Ergott
Summary: What if the Labyrinth really had been just a dream? Too bad Sarah never figured that out, it would have saved writer Jareth Corbett a whole lot of trouble. Or is Sarah really on to something bigger than either of them could have guessed? JS.
1. Chapter 1

**Bodice Ripper**

Chapter One

"_I think I'm in danger of losing a lot around you, Vivian," Darrow murmured into her sweet shoulder. "My heart, for example."_

_Vivian snorted in disbelief._

Jareth snorted in disbelief as well, unable to fathom how he had written such crap. Not even ten months ago he had been flooded with ideas, inspiration buoyed by the flocks of lonely women leaving stores with his books clutched to their chests. But the praise had tapered off and been slowly replaced by a discontent murmur. When was the next book coming out? Could it possibly live up to his previous release?

He sighed and turned away from his computer to look out the window, restless gaze sweeping over the sleeping city below.

Jareth had never doubted that he had drawn the winning lot in life. At 28 he was damned lucky to be a successful author, especially in a genre that was dominated by female writers. He had developed a wit and charm to complement his good looks, the women practically swooning at his feet. Not that they didn't do that already, he mused; the name Jareth Corbett was whispered in reverence among the female population, usually followed by a giggle and one or two of his more raunchy lines. He had the world wrapped around his finger: fame, fortune, and droves of women vying for his attention.

And therein laid the problem.

He had been given the gift of privilege, and had earned a name for understanding the hearts of women. Jareth Corbett was his own worst enemy because he didn't believe in love. Disillusioned, as his neighbor Hoggleston would say. Disillusioned, jaded, and spoiled.

Jareth continued to let his gaze roam over the midnight-covered city. Two months ago he had sat down to work on his latest novel a bit, and had floundered. The ideas had simply run dry, like a well that had been dipped into one too many times. He was a sensational author (if somewhat ironic for the fact that he never believed in what he wrote), already past two deadlines, and facing a writers' block the size of Boston.

It was time for a change.

* * *

"_Don't stop," Carla whimpered. Consequences be damned, her devious hormones whispered, she owed it to herself to have this one moment of pleasure._

_Lionel shot her a wicked grin before setting his tongue back to its insistent work._

"Holy crap, Carla! Don't do it; you barely even know the man!" Sarah whispered to her book, blushing like mad.

_She writhed beneath his mastery, praying like hell this wasn't another one of her dreams. The last thing she needed was to wake up alone and wanting, with the terrible temptation of Lionel Proctor only two doors down. The man was a walking fantasy, and it was a relief to finally give in._

"_Open your eyes Carla," came his dark, rumbling voice. "I want to see those baby-blues when I-"_

The door to the shop jingled merrily, signaling the arrival of a new customer. Hurriedly, Sarah shoved the novel under her counter, willing her raging blush to recede. It was one thing for a customer to think you had a healthy glow, it was quite another for them to think you were hot and bothered. After a cheery greeting, she was left alone in the front of the store.

Keeping a distracted eye on her clientele wander through the back shelves, Sarah brought the book back into her lap, reading under the cover of the counter. It wasn't so much that she really enjoyed these trashy romance novels, she told herself, although J Corbett certainly knew how to turn a good phrase, it was just that this was the closest she could get to excitement these days.

The sad truth was that life had taken a turn toward the boring for Sarah Williams. At 25 she was now running her own glassware shop in the lovely town of Rockport, Maine. The most interesting thing that ever happened to her was when a shipment of plates came in smashed to pieces. She had been drawn to the glass shop by its whimsical air; cute little figurines surrounded by a world of prisms and crystals. Perhaps she had been trying to recapture some of the feeling from that one night, long ago. Life had never really regained its spark after _IT_.

Ten years, and still her pulse raced when she thought of the Labyrinth. It was only a shame that it never chose to race at anything else.

She had been the dutiful daughter after that, the perfect big sister. But something had fled her life that night, and she had spent the past ten years trying to get it back.

Where was the fun? Where was the challenge? Where was the dangerous _romance_?

Sitting in her lap, Sarah thought, frowning at her dog-eared novel. Whether the Labyrinth had been real or a dream, regular life had been a rude slap in the face. In some ways she hadn't changed from that silly girl play-acting in the park; she was still living vicariously through books.

J Corbett's stories brought something to her aching life that she sorely needed; all the romance and passion that she could ask for, right in the palm of her hand! He spun mystery, fantasy, and heated encounters together with a skill unmatched; his books had kept her company through many a long night. It was also the closest she had gotten to a date since high school.

Sarah aimed a black look at the ground. Dammit, it was easier to believe in fictional men like Lionel Proctor than boys like Frank Wyzer who lived on Main Street! Men like Lionel had an air about them, something that screamed of long sweaty nights. Boys in town only had an air about them that screamed of fishing.

It was more than that, though. Characters from books, the alpha males who had their sights set on the heroine, reminded her of _him_.

A decade of wanting one man, and she was terrified that he didn't really exist. But whether he was real or not, the Goblin King had ruined her for other men. Not even Lionel Proctor, with all his rippling muscles and charming smiles, could compare. There had just been something so _intense_ about Jareth that he couldn't have been ignored. If it hadn't been for the fact that she had been undeniably responsible for Toby, she might have been swayed by the otherworldly king a whole lot more.

"Oh, Sarah-honey, you need a boyfriend," she murmured to herself.

"You can try the new hottie that just moved into town," a voice said from over the counter.

Sarah yelped in surprise, shoved her book back under the counter, and tried to glare at Liz. Elizabeth Carver had been a good friend to have since moving away from her family; Liz knew the ins and outs of Rockport like nobody else. Still, she was not the most stable fixture in town; the lovely blond had a habit of disappearing for months at a time.

"Warn a girl when you're going to do that!" Sarah complained. "A room full of glass is not a good place to sneak up on somebody!"

Liz ignored her. "He's blonde, about six feet tall, deliciously lithe, and I think he has blue eyes," she whispered conspiratorially.

"Who is this we're talking about?" Sarah asked, trying to calm her frazzled nerves. She'd been getting jumpy as of late, which was not a good trait to develop for someone who sold such fragile merchandise.

"The guy who just moved in at Owl's Head Point, Sarah, keep up with me here," Liz replied.

Owl's Head Point was a lighthouse and small cabin nestled on a set of cliffs that overlooked a spectacular stretch of ocean. The lighthouse had been remotely controlled for years now, the coastguard commanding the white-and-black brick structure from a simple computer bank. For just as long the cabin had sat empty, no longer needing a keeper in residence. It had been on the market for ages, but who in their right mind would want to live that close to a foghorn, especially on the coast of Maine?

"Someone ought to tell that poor guy that he's living next to a hundred and ten decibel alarm clock. It's foggy most autumn mornings here, he'll go deaf within a week," Sarah shook her head, wondering if a local realtor was about to get sued for withholding information.

Liz gave her a once over. "And why can't that someone be you? I think he looks just your type, sweetie."

The brunette cringed. "No more of your meddling, Liz! I'm not some spinster cousin that you need to marry off."

"If you don't introduce yourself to him now, I'll just find a way to get you two together on a blind date later," Liz warned sternly, impish features set in a scowl. Her expression softened after a moment, "You worry me sometimes Sarah, all alone in this shop, doing nothing but reading. You need to spend time with people, sweetheart; you need a _man_ that will set your heart pounding, instead of a book. I want to know that someone is looking after my friend when I'm away."

"And you think the best way to ensure my safety and sanity is to set me up with a complete stranger?" Sarah asked. A few years ago the sweet and caring words might have taken her in, and in some ways they still did, but she was getting damn tired of Miss Carver's scheming.

"Just a quick, neighborly hello, Sarah," Liz cajoled. "I mean, you live closer to Owl's Head than anyone else in town, and someone needs to welcome the poor guy. I bet you he's sitting in his house, surrounded by unpacked boxes, and feeling pretty damn lonely. He's on the outskirts of town, honey, who do you think he's met so far? A squirrel; maybe a deer? I bet you he's just starving for companionship!"

Sarah cursed. Her friend knew exactly what buttons to press. For the past few years Liz had been dabbling in her life by playing with her conscience.

Liz's smile grew sharp around the edges. "Would you really condemn the man to spend his first evening in a new place all alone? How very cruel of you."

Her head smacked the counter in defeat. No matter how many years had past, the word _cruel_ still haunted her, and still set her into reckless action. "Fine," Sarah groaned into the polished granite, "I'll go welcome him to town after I close the shop tonight, but you'd damn well better leave me alone after this. What's the guy's name?"

Liz darted a pointed look at Sarah's half-covered novel, then breezed out of the shop without a word.

Sarah swallowed at the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. J Corbett? In _Rockport_?

If Liz wasn't pulling her leg, then she certainly had a strange sense of humor; trying to set her up with the very man who wrote the books she wanted to wean Sarah off of. It had to be a joke, Sarah decided, what would a world famous author like him be doing in a nowhere town like this? She'd bet her entire store that the guy who had moved in a half-mile from her was probably just another fisherman; stocky, bearded, and pungent.

Where was a Lionel when she needed one?

* * *

A/N: I've been going out of my mind; this idea has been bugging me for so long! Not the most riveting chapter, but as far as introductions go I think it went fairly well, yeah? This is my little homage to/parody of the classic bodice ripper romance novel which, I'm ashamed to admit, I really do read. 

Page breaks in this story signify a change in setting and/or time, only. For those of you have read any of my previous works, be warned that a page break does not necessarily denote a change in POV like it has in the past.

Please Review!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the movie Labyrinth. Rock Port is a real place, as well as Owl's Head, but it's been quite a few years since I've been there, so I'm making most things up.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Jareth wearily ran a hand over his face, then brought it around to massage the back of his neck. Every way he looked, he was greeted with boxes still waiting to be unpacked.

Moving out of the city had seemed like a good idea; there had been too many distractions. He had figured that if he put himself in a position where he had nothing to do but write, he could somehow overcome his writer's block. His agent had snickered and said he was running off to the woods to find himself. Jareth had bristled at that; there was nothing wrong with change, and if something didn't give soon, he'd be a very famous dead man. He could just picture the hordes of angry readers storming his Boston loft, looking for blood or books, whichever came first.

Moving to Maine had been the right decision; he just hoped it would pay off.

It had been difficult to explain to his neighbor and occasional friend, Hoggleston, why exactly he was relocating, and ever harder to convince the stout man that he didn't need to tag along. Looking at the boxes, Jareth now wondered if it would have been better to let the old man have his way; at least he wouldn't have been unpacking alone.

Despite his fatigue, Jareth smiled. Freedom, at last! Away from the hustle and bustle of the city, away from the pressuring agents and editors, nestled undisturbed in the quiet woods by the ocean, he figured it was only a matter of time before his inspiration came flooding back. He had loved the attention his talents had garnered at first, but fame did funny things to a man, like making him feel that the more people he was surrounded by the more cut off he really was from the world.

It was time to remind himself that Jareth Corbett was his own man and not just another talented pen. It was also time to remember why he wrote in the first place.

But first he had to make the small cabin livable, which meant unpacking. A weary sigh rent the air as Jareth finally set his procrastinating bones to work.

* * *

Sarah frowned at her ancient computer screen; profits were down this month, and that was worrying considering autumn was tourist season for the northeast. She was counting on her Christmas earnings to do some repair jobs around her house, but if the shop didn't pick up soon it would have to wait another year.

That was one of the many things she missed about living with her family. She'd never had to worry about her pipes being old or if her sinks were cracked; her father had taken good care of them. At 25 she was lucky to have her own house, even if it was an extremely old one, but damn if the endless list of repairs wasn't driving her up the wall. Last month it had been the furnace, this month it was leaky pipes, next month it would probably be the roof. She needed to sell a couple of those hundred dollar vases at the back of her store, or she was afraid she'd be coming back from Christmas with her family to find a collapsed pile of rubble where her house had once stood.

With a shake of her head, Sarah set her worries aside and began to close the store for the night. She had promised to welcome her new neighbor tonight and, despite her reluctance to play into Liz's meddling hands, she wanted to make a good impression.

The ride to the outskirts of town didn't take long, and soon she was parking in the semi-familiar driveway. Though Owl's Head had been empty for years, Sarah had come to this place a few times, admiring the view of the ocean from the cliffs or hiking through the woods. It was strange to see lights on in the cabin though; it was like seeing a ghost suddenly come back to life.

Sarah shook off her momentary unease at that thought, and made her way to the door. If the boxes stacked against the windows were anything to go by, it looked as though Liz had been right; the poor guy probably didn't have any help moving in.

Knocking on the solid wooden door sounded strangely ominous to her, the creaking of the old hinges raised the hair on the back of her neck, and the man behind the door had her jaw dropping.

A pair of black jeans and a white dress shirt covered a figure that was lean and commanding. One set of elegant, gloveless fingers curled around the door handle, while the other set played around the belt loop of one hip. Blonde hair was pulled into a messy braid, keeping it away from an angular face that had haunted her dreams for ten years. Sure, the clothes and hair were different but the face wasn't, the piecing, uneven, ice blue eyes sure as hell weren't.

"_You!_" the accusation burst from her lips. _What was he doing here?_

Jareth sighed. He hadn't even been in Rockport for a whole day yet and crazed fans were already hounding him. Still, he though, as far as crazed fans went the woman was pretty easy on the eyes. She was petite and curvy, probably only coming up to his chin, with thick chocolate colored tresses, and wide expressive eyes. Eyes that were currently shining with horror, if he wasn't mistaken.

He watched in confusion as she stumbled back a few steps. "You stay away from me, Goblin King!" she shouted, dashing back to her car and speeding off into the gathering dark.

Jareth stood at his door, dumbfounded by the adorable woman's bizarre retreat. Goblin King? Well hell, the woman was nuts! He sure knew how to pick them, he thought with a snicker; lush body, squirrelly mind. He'd have to find the poor girl later to figure out what the hell she had been going on about.

Perhaps Rockport would prove to be more interesting than he had anticipated, he thought with a chuckle.

* * *

The instant flair of attraction Sarah had felt upon seeing Jareth for the first time in ten years had been expected. The panic had not. Some instinct had fired in the back of her brain, warning her about the nasty details she had been trying to forget. He was dangerous, an opportunist, and nothing from him had come without a price; wonderfully seductive though his company had been, he was not a safe person to be around.

Now, sitting in her cluttered kitchen, Sarah began to mull over the details of what had happened. His stance had been filled with arrogant grace, his lips pulling into that familiar mocking smile, but his eyes… he had seemed surprised, perhaps a bit bemused, and more than a little confused. Had he not been expecting her, of all people, to show up on his doorstep? Or…

Her mind shuddered at the thought.

Had he not even recognized her? How cruel a fate that would be, to pine after one man for a decade only to find he hadn't even bothered to remember her.

And what was Jareth doing in Rockport anyway; didn't he have a kingdom to run?

Fantasy had never really left Sarah as she had grown, it had been too much of who she was to give up. But now, taking a close look at her thoughts, she couldn't help but feel utterly ridiculous. It was true that something had happened that night she had been late coming home, but nothing magical had ever happened to her before or since. Karen always said that she had a nasty habit of painting everything with fantasy, perhaps she had been right. Maybe she had dreamt the whole Labyrinth up, and spent an entire decade trying to recapture something that had never happened. Still…

A new neighbor who looked almost exactly like Jareth was highly suspicious.

A sigh burst from her lips. Sarah grabbed her latest Corbett novel, _Trials of the Wicked_, and settled in for another long night. There would be no sleep this evening; her thoughts were ready to keep her up by running circles around themselves. A good read would keep her mind busy, and with any luck she'd nod off in the early hours of the morning and awaken to discover that she had been laughably mistaken about her new neighbor. Just a trick of the setting sun perhaps, or a hallucination brought on by working too hard.

As she began to read about Lionel and Carla getting into some heavy action, Sarah got the niggling feeling that her peace of mind wasn't going to last long.

* * *

It was 4am and Jareth was sorely tempted to hurl one of his freshly unpacked mugs at the nearest wall.

The dead of morning had always been his favorite time. A silent world stretched out beyond his windows and if he closed his eyes he could almost believe that nothing else existed but him and his writing. He wasn't sure if it was the seclusion that appealed to him, or if it was simply easier to think when the rest of the world was sleeping. With a few lit candles and a cup of tea for company, his best scenes had been written while the morning hours bathed in starlight.

But not today.

"Goblin King," his cultured voice murmured restlessly.

Today he was being tormented by the words of a woman he didn't even know, words that probably wouldn't have made any sense if he hadn't once been involved in the production of a play called Labyrinth. It still didn't explain why the green-eyed beauty had called him the Goblin King and then run away as though the hounds of hell had been chasing her. It was more than that, though. Something about her words had brought his latest story to mind but, for the life of him, he couldn't wrestle a single sentence out of his overworked brain.

The manuscript had been giving him trouble since day one. Something about his ethereal hero, Darrow, had always been off, but no matter how many revisions Jareth went through he hadn't been able to fix it. There was something missing, a tiny shred of personality, a certain aspect of his identity that simply wasn't there. And Vivian! Dear god, he'd never had so much trouble writing a leading lady! The book hadn't originally been his idea, he'd taken it as a commission and, if this was how things were going to go, it was damn well going to be his last commission.

"Goblin King," he muttered, unable to get the idea out of his mind, unable to shake the image of shocked green eyes.

Truth be told, Jareth had been somewhat obsessed by that short play. It had been his first real foray into the world of fantasy. Granted, he had only played a minor part in the production, having more to do with the workings of the backstage, but it had been the catalyst for his writing career. His first few books had been pure fantasy, dripping with intrigue and magic, but he had moved on to more contemporary subjects, and so this commission was the first work in a long time that had taken him back to the intricacies of fairytales. Perhaps that was his current problem: he was simply out of practice. No, he shook his head, it always came back to the characters.

"Goblin King…"

And then it hit him: Darrow was weak. He was a foppish, well-bred gentleman who didn't have a single predatory bone in his entire hulking frame. But a Goblin King, Jareth mused with a spreading smile, could be just as wicked as he wanted. He wouldn't have to play by any rules because he was the one who made them. The possibility opened a number of different options to the writer; the story would have to be re-written from the beginning, but the plot had just opened considerably. It wasn't a flood of ideas, but those starved by drought learned how to make due with a drizzle. It seemed that Maine was paying off, after all.

Tomorrow he would have to find his little green-eyed muse so that he could thank her properly.

* * *

A/N: Only a little interaction so far, but things will get rolling soon.

A special thank you to Leben ist Magie for correcting me on Rockport being one word instead of two (I went back and fixed it in the last chapter), and to Vaelru for catching my semi-constant mistake of mixing up lose for loose (which I also went back to fix).

Please Review!

Disclaimer: Labyrinth: Not mine. Rockport: Real place. What is mine? Just the words.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

It was going to be one of _those_ days, Sarah decided early that morning. She'd fallen asleep sometime during the night and now had a terrible crick in her neck for never making it to her bed, her shop was frighteningly devoid of customers, the weather man was predicting a storm to hit later in the afternoon, and she'd thought she had caught a flash of blonde hair when she had been opening her store up. So far, the new day had not brought her the new hope she had been wishing for.

The door chimed merrily and Sarah whipped around, her heart pounding in her throat, to see who it was.

Liz gave her a wide-eyed look. "What's with you? You look positively hunted."

Sarah let out a sigh. She was on edge because she couldn't get Jareth out of her mind, because it felt like something big was about to happen, because she felt like she was being watched. You're just being paranoid, she told herself. "Sorry Liz, I had a… weird dream last night."

Liz looked her up and down, clearly disbelieving that she had slept at all. "I won't hound you about the importance of a good night's sleep," she shrugged, "if you tell me how it went with the new neighbor."

Her face was so delightfully expectant that Sarah didn't have the heart to tell her she had probably made herself look insane for no reason. Luckily she was saved from answering by the door bleating out its overly chipper herald. Unfortunately, the walls also chose that minute to feel like they were closing in around her.

Jareth was feeling at peace with the world for once. His morning had actually been productive, and after some decent writing he had managed to unpack a few more boxes. His cabin was almost livable. The only unfinished business he seemed to have was finding his little green-eyed minx but then, that wasn't exactly a pressing matter for now.

He ambled across the downtown area, looking from shop to shop. It wasn't a bustling metropolitan area but this place had a feel about it, a certain charm that couldn't be denied. It was like the very buildings were alive, promising treasures to those brave enough to enter. Jareth snorted at himself. Brave enough to enter? What sort of danger was there from a small town furniture store? Man-eating rugs; vampiric armchairs? He'd obviously been spending too much time alone.

Jareth was just about to circle back to where he had parked his car when a shop caught his eye. The building was like all the others, brick-faced and squat, but the window display was out of this world. Crystal prisms of all shapes and sizes hung down from the ceiling casting light and color upon the impish and darling figurines that lazed around in a little forest of glassy trees. Glass was an underappreciated art form, in Jareth's opinion; it was paradoxical, fragile and yet durable, and it called out to him a way that no painting ever could. Without even realizing he had made to step forward, he was pushing open the door, eager to inspect the merchandise.

Sarah felt the blood drain from her face. _Oh, god no. Please, not now, not here!_ Liz darted a look between her and Jareth, a sinister little smile curving her lips. Obviously mistaking Sarah's dread for flustered attraction, the smug matchmaker slunk out the door before her friend could stop her.

Sarah watched as he curiously made his way through the aisles, idly wondering if she should run out the door before he noticed her. She had been so willing to believe that last night had been a mistake on her part, that she had been tired and seen things that hadn't really been there. But this man moved from one display to the next with an unnatural grace, hawkish gaze not missing a single detail of anything he deigned worth his notice. In the past she had always associated him with owls, like the animal form he had taken, but now there was something altogether too feline about his presence. He was regal and commanding and…

Heading straight for her!

Jareth felt a smile curve his lips. Luck was obviously on his side today; not only had he found a wonderful little treasure-trove filled with more things that piqued his interest than he could probably afford to buy, but the woman behind the service counter was just the lady he had been hoping to meet today.

She looked even better bathed in sunlight, he decided. The girl was absolutely adorable, flushed and fidgeting, her hair pulled away from her face by a few unadorned clasps. And what a face it was! Freckles danced across her nose and lightly dusted her cheeks, while pearly white teeth worried a beautifully rosy lip, and he nearly groaned at how delicious that innocent action looked.

He finally came to stand before the counter. "I've been looking for you," he said conversationally, curious at the flair of panic he saw entering her expressive emerald eyes.

She seemed to wrestle with herself for a minute, turned a narrowed-eyed glare on him, then said, "What are you playing at?"

His presence had always gotten a myriad of different reactions, but this had be the first time Jareth could remember being faced with outright hostility from someone he didn't even know. Inwardly he shrugged; lord knew the muses were always fickle, why should this one be any different? "I can't help but feel that there's some sort of misunderstanding hanging between us," he offered bemusedly.

"Misunderstanding?" she asked lowly, incredulously. "After everything you put me through you're lucky I don't-"

"You see, there you go again," he interrupted, "talking as though we've known each other from somewhere before last night."

Her cheeks flushed. "Well, don't we?" she growled angrily.

He stared at her for a moment. "No," Jareth finally answered, "I'm afraid not. I'm rather certain I'd remember someone as… interesting as you." She opened her mouth, no doubt to show him the sharper side of her tongue, but he carried on before she could start. "I came here to thank you. Though you seem to have me confused with someone else, what you said last night, something about a Goblin King, helped me a great deal."

"You mean you're _not_ Jareth?" she eyed him suspiciously.

He could have laughed. Though it galled him somewhat that she had him confused with another person, and one she didn't appear to like very well at that, her angry and disbelieving attitude was, by far, the most interesting thing he had seen in a very long while. "I most certainly am. Jareth Corbett, at your service, milady," he introduced himself smoothly, unable to contain the slightly mocking bow that accompanied his words.

Sarah's mind was on the verge of shutting down from overload. He denied knowing her, and seemed rather genuine about it too, but didn't deny that his name was Jareth. The part that had her reeling though, was his last name. Corbett. Jareth Corbett, who was almost certainly the Goblin King, was her favorite author. Was in Rockport, standing in her very own shop, and staring at her in a combination of interest and entertainment.

She did _not_ need this, she decided with an inward groan. Okay, so life had been cruising on the boring side lately. So she was a little lonely, and kind of worried that she'd end up dying as a crazy old cat-lady. So maybe her greatest joy for the past couple of years had been the racy books she chose to read in lieu of a love life. Did that mean that the one man she knew could shake her without even trying had to come over and, well…shake her world?

No.

She was quite content to pine from afar and use that pining as a convenient excuse not to have to show some sort of interest in the local stock. If commitment were a house she'd happily set it on fire.

"As in the writer, J Corbett?" she asked, though she was pretty sure she already knew.

He nodded, blonde hair shining like slivery-gold in the excessive light cast by all the different prisms, and made a noncommittal sound that could have been agreement.

"And not the Goblin King?" Sarah pressed, though she hardly expected him to honest if that were truly the case.

He stared at her for a while again, his eyes sweeping over her so leisurely it was nearly a caress. It was hard to tell, but at the moment Jareth looked nearly as bewildered as she felt. And it was an honest expression too; there was nothing calculated about it at all. It was damn near driving her up the wall trying to figure out what was going on. "Sorry to disappoint," he finally said, a puzzled smile quirking his lips.

It was a smile that did funny, and completely unwanted things to her insides. "So what are you doing in Rockport then?"

"Writing, as it were. Funny thing, that; a writer writing," he teased, looking so much like the otherworldly king who had stood in parents' room it was freaking her out.

"Look, I don't mean to be rude," she was pretty sure she heard him give a disbelieving snort at that, "but what do you want from me?"

The fact that Jareth had to stop himself from blurting out, 'You underneath me would do rather nicely,' had him kind of worried. Good lord, he'd barely even known the nutty little nymph for a day and already he was lusting after her! He tried reasoning, in his own defense, that she was built like a dream but it merely brought his thoughts back to wondering how nice she would feel pressed up against him.

Thankfully she interrupted his wayward fantasy. "If you're not who I think you are, then what business do you have here?"

Jareth chose to ignore the obvious fact that he was standing in the middle of a store that was open to the public. "I've already told you, I came to thank you and to clear up this misunderstanding between us." Which was obviously going to take more effort than simply introducing himself, he added silently. Fine by him, he was just itching for a challenge that didn't involve his latest book.

She replaced her frown with an aloof expression. "Well, you've said you piece. Now, if you don't intend to buy anything, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

A tactical retreat or a panicked recoil? He'd leave for her peace of mind, but she was sorely mistaken if she thought they were done. Jareth lived for the thrill of a good game, and he was determined to play this one out, whether the minx wanted to or not.

He was halfway down the block when he realized that he still didn't know her name.

* * *

It was pitch-black outside. Sarah didn't normally stay at the shop so late. And it was not because she hiding. Nope. It was the weather. Just like they had predicted, the tempestuous little gale had slammed into the coast, bringing with it some damn cold air and rain that couldn't quite decide if it was a liquid or a solid. Now she was afraid that she might not be able to get home without sliding off the road. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was determined to avoid a certain blonde haired man as if he were the devil.

Oh god, who was she kidding? She had sequestered herself away in her store like a little girl hiding in her closet. Sarah wasn't sure what disturbed her more, the fact that he was Jareth, or that she almost believed him when he said he wasn't the Goblin King. Either way, she had no intension of crossing paths with him again any time soon; she'd had the uncomfortable feeling that every time she opened her mouth around him she sounded absolutely crazy. But damn it, this was too much of a coincidence! The man looked, acted, and sounded like the Goblin King. He even had the same name, for crying out loud!

With a sigh, Sarah closed up her store, dashed wildly through the pelting and slightly painful rain and shivered until her car heater roared to life. Now all she had to do was make it home, where she could proceed to forget anything unusual had happened.

But things could never be that simple for Sarah. A ride that should have been over in less than twenty minutes had taken an hour, and she still wasn't home. Instead, she was off on the side of the road peering under the hood of her car.

Something was smoking. She was pretty sure it was her radiator, but then she didn't really know what scrap of metal that was supposed to be. Engines had always confused her. She wasn't really the mechanical sort, a fact which she now lamented, standing in what had turned into a heavy sleet being driven by a very wicked wind. If it weren't for the fact that she was about as close to her engine as possible without sitting on the damn thing, she knew the little ballistic ice-missiles would have cut her up. The problem was she couldn't stay that way; she had absolutely no idea how to get her car moving again and she would have to find a way home eventually.

As if a guardian angel had heard her prayers, a sleek car pulled up next to her. An electric window rolled down smoothly and, before she could even begin to offer her deepest gratitude, that hauntingly familiar voice, cultured and oh-so-decadent, issued a simple command. "Get in," Jareth ordered.

Apparently her guardian angel was Lucifer.

* * *

A/N: Sorry about the slight delay on this one; I meant to write last weekend, but things got a little crazy. I'm going to try to write again this weekend to make up for it, but we'll have to wait and see how that goes.

A big thank you to everyone how reviewed, especially Diana for recommending so many books I can't wait to sink my teeth into.

Please Review!

Disclaimer: Jareth and Sarah are not mine. Rockport is not mine. Liz Carver and the glass shop are, but I hardly consider that a fair trade-off.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

It was a frighteningly nice car. The seats were plush and leathery, the air was comfortably warm, the stereo was gently playing something that sounded like Vivaldi, and not a single bump in the road jarred either passenger. She still didn't want to be there.

"Tell me you're just having a hard week, because if you're always this paranoid-psychotic you need a keeper," Jareth said, sounding halfway between a groan and a chuckle.

Sarah bristled, ignoring the goose bumps caused by an icy coat and wet pants sticking to her. "As a matter of fact, I _am_ having a bad week. It started last night when I first saw you, and I doubt it's likely to improve over the next six days unless you turn out to be some sort of recluse," she snapped. She did _not_ need a keeper! It was his fault that she was so off balance.

Jareth shrugged, seemingly unaffected by her temper, though the dim lights of the dashboard briefly caught the smile that played across his face. "Where do you live?" he asked, slowing the car slightly as another gust of wind tried to blow them into a ditch.

The abrupt question caught her off guard. Grudgingly, she had to admit that it was very kind of him to drive her home, but she didn't like the idea of him knowing where she lived. Of course, the alternative was probably going to his place, which was definitely somewhere she had no desire to go. Rather dealing with him on her own territory, she gave him directions. Briefly, she wished that there were more back-roads they could have taken so that he wouldn't realize how close they lived to one another.

The ride was mercifully and horrifyingly short. She was ten yards from the safety of her front door; unfortunately, so was he. By now Jareth had to realize that they lived a measly two miles apart. Sarah could escape him now, provided she could outrun him to the house, but good chances were he'd just show up later, probably unannounced and expecting her cooperation as most annoying neighbors were wont to do. She eyed him as he started to undo his seatbelt. So which was the lesser of two evils: him inside her house right now or him outside her house, demanding who knows what, later?

There was really no contest between the two.

Sarah bolted from the car, made it to the door, and was fumbling with her key when he slammed one hand against the door and the other one on the wall just past her ear, leaving her trapped between a jammed door and a man that was either extremely amused or slightly pissed.

Though her wild dash had entertained Jareth, he'd be lying if he said it hadn't irritated him. He'd been nothing but polite to this woman (perhaps a bit sarcastic and mocking, but only playfully so), had rescued her from a five mile trek through gale-driven sleet, and she was still acting as though he were some sort of serial killer waiting to strike. It chaffed; he'd been on his best behavior so far and the nymph was still letting some misconception color her actions. For a moment it made him wonder what had happened to her to make her distrust so badly, to make an otherwise delightful woman back herself into a world of fantasy. Who was this man she thought him to be, who she wanted so desperately to escape?

She wiggled a bit, stepping closer to the door, which brought him back to the present.

Jareth generally considered himself an honorable man. He was assisting this woman home and making sure she didn't get hypothermia or pneumonia; the honorable thing to do would be to ignore temptation, to forget about his growing lust, for the time being, and see to it that she was properly taken care of.

Unfortunately, he considered himself more basely mischievous than honorable, and resisting temptation had never been an easy thing for him to do.

He leaned into her sweet curves, further trapping her against the door. Resting his head on her shoulder, lips close enough to brush the curve of her ear, Jareth murmured lowly, "You're the damnedest woman I've ever met." And when she shivered he couldn't help but catch her small hoop earring with his teeth and give it a delicate tug.

"Look, it was really nice of you to see me home, but we're here now and there's really no reason you shouldn't be on your way," she stuttered quickly, trying to crane her head away from him, but succeeding only in laying her forehead against the door.

He started to shake his head but the motion turned into a nuzzle, mid-gesture; he was too close to her to do much else. "I don't see any other cars here; you live alone, don't you? You're sopping wet, freezing cold, your car is miles away, and the phone lines are probably down. What shall you do if you suddenly take ill out here by yourself; go to a neighbor? Darling, I'm the closest you've got. So we can go inside now and get you warmed up before you catch something, or you can wait until you're delirious with fever before seeking out some help. Either way, it comes back to me, so let's not be stubborn about this, alright?"

Jareth slipped the key ring out of her frozen fingers, backed both of them up a few paces, and opened the door.

* * *

Sarah was sitting in her bedroom, trying desperately to regroup.

The enemy had invaded her territory now, and there didn't seem to be anyway of getting him to leave. Calling the police would definitely work but, damn her luck, he had been right about the phone lines being down. She could probably escape out one of her windows, but she really didn't have anywhere to go, and in this weather without a car the idea was nothing short of suicidal.

It was frightening how quickly he had taken things in hand. The second they had gotten through the door he had started navigating her kitchen as if he had lived there just as long as she had, putting the kettle to boil while ordering her to go change into something warm and dry. Her last glimpse, before darting up the stairs, had been of him pulling out two mugs and the sugar bowl from the correct cabinet on his first guess.

The only thing more frightening than his unerring accuracy was the few seconds she had spent plastered to him, back to front. Jareth hadn't kissed her, hadn't moved his hands from their stationary positions; okay, so there'd been a bit of nuzzling and nipping, but his teeth hadn't made any actual contact with her skin, so it really shouldn't have made her feel as light-headed as it had. Sure, the panic had still been there, trying to guide her actions, but that decade of attraction, which had seemed to go into hiding the second she had seen him, was slowly creeping its way back into her perspective.

That single tug on her earring, that brush of teeth against cold metal, had stirred a hunger in her deeper than any achieved by men who had actually laid their lips to her skin. How was it that this man could get a greater response out of her by doing practically nothing, while others had done their damnedest and left her feeling nothing but cold? Her hormones were obviously twisted.

Sarah took a fortifying breath, somehow knowing that a few more minutes would find him in her room to see what was taking her so long, and made her way down to the kitchen as slowly as was humanly possible.

Jareth was leaning lazily against her counters, idly stirring a steaming cup, which he handed to her, then proceeded to the other mug for himself. Despite his insistence that he help her, it struck Sarah as strange that he should bother himself with her comfort at all. She wasn't used to being taken care of; even when living with her own family, she had been expected to do most things for herself. Which begged the question, "Why do you care?"

He looked up from his hands, a smile playing about the corner of his lips, and raised a brow. "It bothers you, doesn't it?" Jareth asked quietly, a laugh rippling his rich voice. "You strike me as the sort of girl who refuses to relinquish control until she absolutely has to."

"I asked for an explanation, not to be psychoanalyzed," Sarah snapped, trying to ignore the wonderful heat seeping back into her fingers from the mug.

"You have no idea how tortured I've been these past two and a half months: deadlines creeping up on me, ideas that refused to be written, characters that were flatter than a collapsed flan, and no matter what I did I couldn't make any of it right. So I packed all my things up and headed out into wild country, but I knew unless something happened, good chances were I wasn't going to have any easier of a time writing than before," his long fingers twirled a spoon as he spoke, the motion so fluid it seemed as though the spoon could keep going long after he had let go.

"And?" she asked irritably, trying to figure out how what he was saying had anything to do with the question she had asked.

"And then you came along," Jareth replied, sounding oddly triumphant. The dim kitchen lights sparkled in his hooded eyes, making them shimmer like mysteriously bright sapphires, and his smile was just a shade too predatory for Sarah's comfort. "You stood on my doorstep last night looking like a lost angel, sweet and endearing features gilt by the setting sun." He chuckled. "And then you opened your mouth and revealed that you are, quite possibly, a lunatic. I have to thank you for being insane and overly suspicious though, because had you not yelled out about a Goblin King, I rather imagine I'd still be fighting an uphill battle with my own writing."

She rolled one hand in the air, wordlessly urging him to continue.

"You eased my writer's block, which I figure puts me deeply in your debt. The best way I know how to pay you back is to make sure you don't get yourself into any trouble and, after today, I can see that I'm going to have to be rather vigilant to achieve that goal." Jareth set his mug down, pushed his lean hips off the counter, and caught either side of her face in a ghostly-light caress. "I rather like the thought of having you around; perhaps you can dispel the rest of my writer's block." When she opened her mouth to protest, he quieted her with a finger. "I'm not a man to be dissuaded, minx; you might as well get used to me, because I'm not going anywhere until this book done."

His little green-eyed beauty backed up, visibly disconcerted by his nearness and physicality. Poor thing looked as though she wanted to run back up to her room. When she took another faltering step away he realized that she intended to do just that, so he started circling her. She circled with him, never allowing him at her back, and not seeming to notice how he was crowding her further into the room, insinuating himself between her and the door.

"You can't just barge your way into somebody's life," she said stubbornly, glaring at him.

"I beg to differ, you did so last night. Now, for better or worse, we're stuck with each other," he replied, amused at the little bubble of space she tried to constantly keep between them.

She stomped a foot, like an angry child. "We're not stuck at all! All you have to do is turn around, go home, and forget you ever met me. It's really not that difficult."

Jareth shook his head. "No writer would so callously ignore a muse. Besides, I imagine it would be an exercise in futility, trying to forget you." He hadn't been kidding when he had said he was stubborn; she was too interesting to let go, his mysterious minx. It was better that she learned now, early on, that when Jareth set his mind to something all other possibilities ceased to exist. He wanted to know this woman; he_would_ know this woman, and any attempts on her part to dissuade him would simply enliven the chase. She had a hard time letting someone take care of her? That was nothing compared to how he intended to insinuate himself into her life. She had trouble relinquishing control? Well, she had better get used to the idea because this woman needed a keeper and he intended to be it.

Her lips pursed and her glare intensified as she came up against the counters he had previously been leaning on. "I want you out of my house," she said simply.

Slowly, he realized; he would have to ease her into this slowly. That didn't stop him from kissing her, however. The opportunity was just too good to pass up. She was a cornered little treat, almost completely at his mercy. His lips slanted over hers, hard but teasing.

He had expected resistance, the hissing and spitting of an enraged cat, but he was met with eager enthusiasm. The only fighting Jareth received was for control. Her lips worked gently under his, and he felt the nip of her teeth at the same moment her hands balled in his shirt, pulling him closer. Slipping his own hands around her waist, he crushed her against him and growled a warning. The woman was delusional if she thought for one second that he wasn't going to be the one pulling the strings.

And in that moment he saw that their relationship would be exactly like this kiss: playful and passionate and a constant fight for dominance.

Jareth pushed past the seam of her lips, using clever fingers to wring a gasp out of her, and swept his tongue into her mouth. His blood erupted with fire. There was something sweet and addictive about her, a subtle taste that a man knew he would want to sample over and over. And he would, he knew, at every opportunity possible. His body strung tightly at the endless possibilities he could imagine before them. If one kiss felt like heaven, how would two feel? What would it be like to run his hands over her without two layers of clothing between them?

All too soon her lips tore away from his own. She looked so lovely, flushed and panting, such a dream come true that he was beginning to think a short fling in Maine wasn't going to be nearly long enough with this woman.

A quiet hiss fled him as she shifted about, brushing against a part of him that was only too eager to make her acquaintance. She stiffened under him, as if suddenly coming back to herself. "I want you out of my house," she repeated, voice infinitely huskier this time around.

A fighter to the end, Jareth thought with admiration. That suited him just fine; it would make breaking her walls down just that much sweeter. With a last nip at her lips, he let her go. "Alright," he agreed, figuring he had pushed as far as he was going to be able to for this day. "But I'm coming back tomorrow to check on you."

She wouldn't open the door; that, Sarah knew with absolute certainty. A man who could make her fly apart so thoroughly, while still filling her with a bone-deep distrust, was someone to be avoided.

He was halfway to the door when he paused and turned back to her. "What's your name?" Jareth asked, that infuriating laugh back in his voice.

Too bewildered to wonder why he didn't already know or how he could kiss a stranger like that, too weary to consider whether he was the Jareth she knew acting out a very elaborate game, she told him. "Sarah."

He smiled, a quirk of the lips so dashing it would have left her weak in the knees had she not already been operating on overload. "Sarah," he repeated, making it sound like a wicked, sensual promise, before quietly making his way out.

She watched him get into his car from the window, watched as the headlights turned out of her drive and slipped into the night. The man was positively dangerous, she decided. There was no way she was letting him back in tomorrow.

After a quick scan, she found the key ring he had commandeered, ironically set atop her latest Corbett novel. With shaky fingers she hung the ring on its nail in the kitchen.

It took her a few moments to realize that the key to her backdoor was missing.

* * *

A/N: Hmmm… I'm still not sure if I'm satisfied with this chapter or not. What did you all think?

Please Review!

Disclaimer: The plot is relatively mine, the clichés are public domain at this point, and I do not own anything that came from Labyrinth.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_A groan was ripped from his throat as she pressed tightly against him. Something hot and savage raced through his blood, goading Lionel to take more. His lips crashed over Carla's, hot, heavy, and insatiable. _

Sarah let out a tormented whimper.

It had been easy to fall back into routine, to spend the evening on autopilot as though nothing unusual had happened. She'd pulled together a small soup to eat, and had picked up her novel, like always. As if pretending would change the fact that the key to her backdoor had been stolen by a man who-

No! She wasn't going to think about it. Examining what had happened in her kitchen was a bad idea. After so many years of being removed from the events that had taken place in the Labyrinth, she had inevitably romanticized them. Forgotten how hellish the ordeal had truly been, and how formidable an opponent Jareth could be. She was physically attracted to the man, there was no denying that, had been obsessed with him for more years than she cared to count. Why add fuel to that dangerous fire? Why give the hopelessly romantic side of her something to latch onto, when she didn't even really know what was going on?

_Burning. He felt like he was burning from the inside out, and relief was just one grinding thrust away; like Carla was an oasis on a planet made of nothing but desert, and if he could just somehow crawl within her, he'd be content to the end of his days._

_Her hands looped around the back of his neck, pulling him as close as possible, while pushing her hips fiercely against his own, seeking the satisfaction that their interfering clothing was denying them._

"I was kissed by the man who wrote this!" Sarah's traitorous voice burst out, a blush staining her cheeks. She hadn't wanted to think about the kiss, it was rocky ground at best, but apparently she couldn't forget it, either. And doubly worse was that she knew all the horribly carnal thing that had probably gone through his mind, courtesy of Jareth's own writing.

Sarah had been intimate with men before, but somehow those encounters had never left her feeling _right_. Like she had been waiting for something that was never going to happen; a quickened pulse, a heady languor,_ anything_ to prove that she was a normal, red-blooded girl. She'd turned to romance novels, in lieu of actually dating, and had felt more of a thrill from reading stories by Corbett than she'd ever felt during her forays into the physical. After a while she had just assumed that it had been the inexperienced and fumbling gropes that had turned her cold, rather than some bizarre inability to respond on her part. Now, Sarah had to wonder; the man who wrote those books was the very one who had made her teenage heart race in an intoxicating combination of adrenaline, fear, and burgeoning attraction. Jareth was the only man to have ever gotten a response out of her, through writing and actual presence.

And what presence he had! That kiss had been downright sinful; too good to be true. And, knowing Jareth, there had to be some sort of nasty price attached. Unless she found some way to jam her backdoor, Sarah was at the relative mercy of a man who wrote out sex scenes for a living and seemed to have taken an unnaturally fast liking to her. Whether he was truly the Goblin King or not remained to be seen, but coincidences were running too high for her to truthfully even consider that he might be a normal man. Whatever he was, he would be coming back the next day.

Sarah looked down at the book in her hands, taking in the erotically twisting bodies on the cover and oddly arrogant letters that proclaimed it to be another sinfully decadent creation by J Corbett. For a moment she felt trapped by it, as though the novel had started all her problems. In twenty-four hours her life had gone from calm to chaos, and tomorrow was only going to make it worse.

It wasn't fair!

* * *

It was wet outside, and damn freezing if Jareth was honest with himself. The sleet had gone back to a freezing rain that coated the sides of his cabin and the trees, driven at odd angles by the bitter wind. It was the sort of wind that howled through a man's soul, whipping at the very heart of him with icy claws. A storm like this, though innocent enough to anyone who stayed indoors, could kill a man if he strayed too long outside.

Rain beat against him with bruising force, thanks to the gale, and slid down his neck to soak the shirt under his jacket. In a few minutes he'd probably start shivering, drenched as he was, but for some reason he couldn't pull himself away. Jareth thought of any number of foul names to call himself, staying out was an act of sheer stupidity. But it had always been that way with him and storms. Something about the clash of nature, being able to see and feel it, was blessedly elemental; it fed something in him that he couldn't name.

And it needed easing tonight, that nameless thing that lurked under his skin. Ever since he had left Sarah standing in her kitchen, action-flushed and passion-ready, he'd felt on edge. An anomalous sense of abandonment had filled him, as though, somehow, it had been her fault that they were apart. They had never even been together, Jareth though with confusion, and it had been his decision, ultimately, to leave for the night. It was strange but one part of him adored everything he had seen of Sarah so far, while another part was suddenly feeling angered denial at the very thought of her. The girl had gotten so far under his skin in so little time that he was almost worried about what would happen after prolonged exposure.

With just a bit of frustration, Jareth made his way back into his home, quickly stripping off his wet clothing. He couldn't very well be any help to a potentially sick Sarah if he became sick himself. Stepping under the brutally hot spray of his shower, he thought about the bronze-colored key sitting on his desk. Not his key; not a key that he'd had any right to take. But, despite the lack of time spent in each other's company, he knew exactly how his minx would have reacted had he simply shown up tomorrow. She would never have let him back into her home, not by choice. So he had found his own way in, and had warned her he was coming. Despite her peculiarities, he had no doubt that she was a smart woman; she would notice the missing key.

The question was: what would she do about it? Find a way to keep him out? Simply not be there when he showed up? A smile instantly curved his lips at the possibilities; Sarah was obviously a stubborn creature, she would not let him into her life easily. But finding a way around all that, the chases and games, was half the fun.

After all, what would a good old-fashioned seduction be like without a little resistance?

* * *

She didn't want to sleep that night. Knowing that Jareth could come waltzing in at any moment he wanted to had her beyond disturbed. Sarah had tried wedging a chair under the doorknob of the backdoor, like she had always seen people do in those cheesy horror movies, but the knob was simply to high and the chair had clattered depressingly upright, completely useless as a deterrent. For a while she'd toyed with the idea of creating a blockade out of some furniture, but the best stuff would be heavy, like the fridge, and not something she would be able to move on her own. What she wouldn't give for a deadbolt! Most of the stores in town would be closed tomorrow, as seemed to be a small-town custom for Sundays, but, come hell or high water, she was installing new and extra locks all around the house as soon as possible. It was her home, she shouldn't have to worry about uninvited guests! Fleetingly she wondered if that's how Jareth had felt when he'd amassed his goblin army.

Sleeping was honestly the last thing Sarah wanted to do, but she hadn't slept well the night before, and giving in to her body's demands had been inevitable. With a final, and completely irritating in her opinion, check around the house, she stumbled to her room and snuggled down into her warm bed. The hell she had been through that day almost seemed worth it for the sweet comfort she found in those thick sheets.

Slipping off to sleep, Sarah made a firm decision. While she wanted to know what the hell was going on with Jareth, she wasn't going to allow the guy to walk all over her. She would spend tomorrow with Liz; see how cocky the arrogant bastard was when faced with an empty house! And if she did turn out to be sick? Well, she was a big girl; she knew how to take care of herself.

* * *

Sleep refused to come, which wasn't surprising seeing as Jareth was a man of strange hours. Too restless to write, he paced his small living room, idly twirling the stolen key between his fingers. 

"Shouldn't think on her so much," he chastised himself; an image of Sarah, lips slightly kiss-swollen, danced behind his eyes. "You think about them too much, and suddenly you find yourself making commitments. And it would be a crime to string someone so sweet along when you know that you're just looking for an interesting time until you head back to Boston."

But the image wouldn't leave him. She was panting and red-cheeked, her eyes a stormy emerald, with a cascade of dark hair framing her delightful face. And it didn't stop there. Now the dream-Sarah was impatiently tugging off her clothes, baring her luscious curves while making whimpers and mewls that went straight to his male ego. The sight of her drunk off the amorous feelings that _he_ had kindled in her, knowing that her lips were swollen from _his_ kisses, made want to purr like some giant, mating beast. The pleasure that he'd given women had always left him with a certain satisfaction, but he'd never been a possessive man before, by any means.

"For the love of god!" he growled, trying to shift his uncomfortably tight jeans, "You haven't even had sex with the woman yet!" Perhaps that was the problem.

The key felt unnaturally heavy in his hand.

What was she doing right now? Quietly slipping out of her house, so as to avoid him? But how would she get anywhere without a car, and where would she go? The sudden thought that she might have a boyfriend to escape to abruptly stopped his pacing. It hadn't even crossed his mind that she might already be in a relationship; it had just felt natural, expected even, that he should pursue her. The thought that there might be someone out there with legitimate rights to her infuriated him. A man, who was not him, could, at that very moment, be slipping his filthy hands up Sarah's thigh, kissing lips that not-so-long-ago had been eagerly pressed to Jareth's, imprinting her with a male scent that would never be right.

He had no right to tear up a relationship for his own selfish desires, especially when he knew that it was unlikely he would ever be able to give more than a heated fling. Would he be the monster that kept her from finding someone she deserved, just to that his own carnal wishes could be satisfied? The thought of her moaning under some faceless stranger answered that question quick enough.

Yes. He would be whatever sort of monster he had to, in order to ensure he was able to experience as much of Sarah as possible, at least for a little while. He wanted to be the center of her little universe until he left, and the interference of any unexpected interlopers was simple unacceptable.

* * *

Sarah awoke to the purring of a rather large cat that had curled up on top of her. Confusedly, she looked around the room for a few seconds; it was still dark, which meant it was probably early morning. Other than the cat, she couldn't imagine what might have awoken her. But, through the haze of sleep came a fact of slightly different importance. 

She didn't have a cat.

Sitting up, she stared down at the gingery-orange beast sprawled comfortably over her lap. "You're not mine," she said groggily, scratching the enormous feline under the chin.

"No, he's mine. Ludo made it clear that he was feeling decidedly neglected, so I brought him along," the dark voice came out from the shadows of her room. Her eyes frantically searching every nook and cranny, Sarah all but screamed when Jareth seemed to bleed out of the shadows.

It was easy to see how she had missed him, though. Despite his pale skin and hair, he was drenched in black; black jeans, black sweater, black jacket. It was almost as if he was made of darkness. The strangely tense air surrounding him wasn't helping matters. Something was obviously wrong; something had his back up, and he was none too pleased about it.

"Hello Sarah," his voice was deep and smooth and dangerous, just as it had been on that very first meeting. She had the horrible feeling that things weren't going to end any better this time, either.

* * *

A/N: … I usually have something to say right here but, like with the last chapter, I'm not too sure if I liked this one or not. What did you guys think? 

Please Review! Your opinion is extremely important to me, and I'd be more than happy to answer any questions you may have (as long as it isn't crucial to the plot)!

Disclaimer: Labyrinth belongs to the Jim Henson Company; I'm not making any money off this, it is simply an endeavor in entertainment.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Jareth stared at her in detached fascination. Sarah was sleep-flushed and groggy, hair falling out of its braid, and wearing little more than an oversized shirt. She painted a painfully teasing picture: sprawled over a bed, one shoulder bared to the world, lips parted as though they had been kissed, and glazed eyes looking as though she had just experienced mind-blowing passion. If it weren't for the fact that his behemoth of a cat had taken up gleeful residence on her lap, or that the sexy look was rapidly fading from her eyes, he would have pounced on her right then and there, plans for seduction be damned.

He hadn't left his house with much of a plan… or any plan, really. The devil had been riding him hard, goading him into action. Something had to be done because his plans were being threatened, and just the thought of somebody being able to know Sarah in the physical sense was sending him into fits.

Something was very wrong with him. The storm raging outside seemed to be howling through his blood as well. A dark voice was whispering in the back of his mind. _Take her; make her yours. You have every right to._ He didn't have any right at all, but damn him to hell if those words didn't sound wonderful. _She'll deny you; that is simply her nature._ But Jareth had been looking forward to getting through her resistance. Like a good tango, passion-play depended on the right balance of force and gentle coaxing. _Establish-_

He was just staring at her, Sarah thought uncomfortably. Lounging in her comfy chair that was pushed into the darkest corner of the room, barely moving, and staring _blankly_. She wasn't sure what was worse: Jareth's eyes devouring her, as they had been a few minutes ago, or gazing through her as though she was just some pretty, painted screen blocking his view of the wall. He didn't seem to be snapping out of it anytime soon, either, entranced as he was. Normally, she would have taken such an opportunity to get the hell out of the room, put some decent clothes on, find some help or a useful blunt object, but a twenty-something-pound ball of Maine Coon fur was holding her resolutely immobile.

Ludo. Jareth had an orangey cat named Ludo. A cat that seemed inordinately pleased to see her, if the purring was anything to go by.

Sarah had been willing to entertain the possibility that Jareth really was just a normal man; after all, he hadn't really tipped his hand. He drove a car, had a home, knew his way around the mortal realm, and genuinely didn't seem to know very much about her. The man was a published, and very popular author, for crying out loud! Surely a Goblin King would neither have the time nor the desire to masquerade as a mortal so thoroughly. But that didn't change the fact that, as far as she could tell, he was _exactly_ like the Jareth she knew from ten years ago. Sure, he looked younger and the hair was tamer, but it wasn't enough of a difference. Same name, same attributes, same mannerisms. And now Ludo! The coincidences were stacking up against this 'man'.

She didn't want to be suspicious; it wasn't pleasant, nor was it her natural disposition. But, in the increasingly likely event that he _was_ the Goblin King, what did he want with her? Theirs was a rocky past and, at the moment, he seemed hell-bent on driving her insane. She wasn't even going to think about the kiss; that would bring her into a realm of carnal possibilities and, to be perfectly honest, she just didn't trust herself with those sorts of thoughts at the moment.

Jareth's voice snapped out of the gloom, pulling her from her wandering thoughts. "You're not seeing anyone," it wasn't a question; it was a command.

Sarah bristled at that. If he wanted to be a Neanderthal, he could do it somewhere else! The fact that she was painfully single was still something of a sore point for her, and she did not need someone like Jareth telling her who she could and couldn't see. As if he had any right to interfere in her life! "Like hell I'm not!" she growled, hoping that the lie wouldn't come back to bite her in the future.

He lunged forward, a movement so fast it seemed as though he had simply disappeared from one spot and reappeared in another, and knocked her on her back, pinning her to the bed. "You are not seeing anyone!" he snarled, something strange lurking in the back of his eyes.

Ignoring the hissing and spitting Ludo who had been so rudely dislodged to the floor, Sarah asked sweetly, "Do you intend to be my boyfriend, then?"

His eyes narrowed consideringly, but at length he answered, "No."

"Then how do you intend to keep me from dating?" Subtly, she tried to inch further up the bed, hoping to get out from under him.

Jareth's hands shot above her shoulders while one of his knees made its way between her thighs, thoroughly blocking her from moving very far in any direction. "Don't try my patience," he warned quietly, a stray lock of hair falling over one eye.

Sarah flushed at their position, trying not to think about how good it might feel under different circumstances. "Flirting I can understand, kissing I can overlook, but you're being horribly forward for someone who's a relative stranger," she informed him tartly. If he didn't move in the next minute she was going to head-butt him.

"You wound me, minx," he replied, mood lightening mercurially. "Strangers, indeed. How many more kisses until I'm a friend, fifty or so? A hundred more after that until I'm allowed to be your lover?" As though sensing her violent thoughts, he pulled his head backward, out of striking-range. "And how many days until you understand? You can't have a boyfriend _and_ a lover, and I refuse to be one so I must obviously be the other."

"You're teasing me, aren't you?" Sarah asked petulantly. Lover? People didn't really use that word anymore. Somewhere over the years it had just become assumed that an emotional relationship entailed a physical one as well. This man was boldly and unapologetically stating that he wanted to have sex with her, little to no emotional strings attached. The thought was intriguing.

"On the contrary, Sarah, I'm dead serious." One hand moved down to flit over her bare shoulder, while his eyes half closed in a lazy perusal of her face. "You _can't_ have both, minx. With one position filled the other becomes void, and I fully intend to be your lover so you might as well forget about anyone else for a while."

She hadn't had sex in a lot longer than she cared to admit; her body was starved for attention. But somehow, even given the extreme temptation of being able to get naked and raw with someone like Jareth, she just couldn't picture herself giving a man her body without expecting some sort of emotional connection. She just wasn't wired that way; 'all or nothing,' had been the leading principle of her life for too long to make such a drastic change. Sarah Williams didn't have gritty and carnal affairs; she had long and predictable relationships. "Why do you consider the two to be mutually exclusive?" she asked after a while. "You're obviously seeking some sort of monogamous relationship, even if it is based solely on desire, so why don't you want to commit emotionally?"

"Why make promises I've never been able to keep before?" he countered quietly. "If gone about properly, one is no less honorable than the other, if that's what worries you."

"What worries me is that I don't know you." Sarah tried shifting again, sorely tired of being caught under the weight of her uninvited guest.

Jareth waved his hand impatiently, as if to say, 'Oh. That again.'

Irked by his response, she continued, "I mean, I know Frank Wyzer better than I know you, and-"

His lips slanted over hers with punishing force, long fingers tucking around her jaw to keep her where she was.

The first kiss had been heady but careful; a subtle toeing of the line, seeing what could be gotten away with before she would resort to visiting violence upon him. Gentle brushes of the lips, a little taste of tongue, an intoxicating mixture meant to coax her into responding. And respond she had, with absolute fervor. After ten years of lusting after a man who, at the very least, looked like the one that had been kissing her, it had been nearly impossible not to kiss him back.

This kiss was not gentle; Jareth wasn't coaxing, he was taking. It was angry and forceful and _absolutely wonderful_. Sarah cursed herself for a fool, but her body was responding more fiercely to this kiss than she had to the other.

All her boyfriends in the past had kissed her like frail china, and sex and been sweet and tidy and completely unsatisfying. Wasn't it all supposed to be about passion; about giving all so that you could get all? Tender moments had their merit, but carnal pleasure was meant to be explosive. Jareth knew that, seemed to live life that way, and delivered one wonderful shock after another through his kiss. Something in her opened pale and hungry eyes, knowing that this man could give her something the others never could.

Completely forgetting that just a moment ago she'd wanted to head-butt him, Sarah caught his bottom lip between her teeth, trying to slow him for a moment so that she could better savor what was happening.

Jareth growled, one hand slipping down to expertly find a nipple through her nightshirt, which he pinched in warning.

The action wrung a gasp out of her, and reminded her that she had hands of her own, which she quickly slipped under his jacket and began to explore his shirt-clad back.

His lips pressed into her own just that much harder, one large palm gently cupping the weight of her breast, while the other stayed close to her head just in case she decided to move. So slowly that she almost didn't notice, Jareth lowered himself from his semi-kneeling position above her but, dear god, did she _ever_ feel that first grinding thrust. He was hot and hard, and the knowledge that the only thing separating them right now was a pair of jeans and her panties did funny things to her already overworked libido. After the second thrust her hands shot down to grip the tight flesh of his ass, feeling the muscles work as he smoothly slid into his third thrust. He held there a moment, grinding into the heat of her, teeth nipping her lips, and driving her crazy.

A whimper escaped her when he stopped grinding, and she moved to thrust back at him,_needing_ the friction to ease the ache deep in her belly, but his hips bore down on her, preventing movement. Restlessness clawed at her insides, demanding satisfaction. Her body was flooding itself with liquid fire, eager for the rigid maleness of him.

But Jareth, despite having so boldly announced his licentious intentions, ended the kiss. "I don't wear jealousy well, Sarah," he rasped, a deliciously husky note in his voice. "Don't back me into that corner."

She stared at him in shock. "You _are_ teasing me!" she accused, tongue darting out to taste what remained of him on her lips.

His eyes followed the movement with an animalistic intensity. "Believe me, I want nothing more than to finish _this_," Jareth flexed his hips gently against her own, "right here and now, but you'd hate me in the morning."

Sarah opened her mouth to protest, but her brain was finally kicking in. Dear god, she'd just finished deciding that she couldn't have sex with the man, and then she'd gone and nearly done it anyway! She _would_ have hated him in the morning, but not nearly as much as she would have hated herself.

Seeming to sense her inner turmoil, he shook his head. "You need time and encouragement to get used to the idea. I may not be the most patient man in the world, but I do enjoy a good challenge." Jareth pressed his forehead to hers, nearly nose to nose. "You might snarl at me now, minx, but that just makes you all the more worth it."

* * *

A/N: Remember Frank Wyzer, from chapter one? He was only mentioned in passing, which is why I ask.

You can thank PaisleyRose, GraceRichie, and Solea for the speedy update. They commanded, and I had no choice but to provide.

This chapter is dedicated to Diana, who seems in sore need of some uplifting, in my opinion. And sleep. But I can only give one of the two.

In other news (and I apologize for drawing this out), I've finally gotten my livejournal up to speed, and I've started to post some of my writing at deviantart. If you are a member of either, please show your support so that I know I'm not posting for a ghost-audience. You can find links to both accounts in my profile.

Please Review!

Disclaimer: Still not mine.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

It was hard to tell what was going through Jareth's mind; with his forehead pressed against hers, Sarah couldn't read his eyes very clearly. His body was speaking plainly enough, it wanted satisfaction from the warm female curves it was pressed into, but his words of patience, of forbearance, contradicted such primal language. He was as wound up as she had been a minute ago, but he was willing give her time. How very sweet of him.

She could tell him where to stick his noble actions though, because that didn't change the fact that he was still acting proprietary and, while flattering on some strange level, it was sort of freaking her out now that she didn't have the distraction of his lips.

"You have no right-" Sarah began to snarl, head rearing back to glare at him.

Jareth sighed. True, he didn't want the woman to blindly give in, but a lecture, deserved or not, wasn't anything he felt like sitting through. After all, what was the point? She could talk her pretty little head off, but that wasn't going to change his plans. Hoping to cut her off before she could gather any steam, he lowered his head for another kiss.

Sarah's palm shot out to stop his decent, smacking flat against his forehead. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh at the picture they must have made, but he did know that he was glad she wasn't afraid of him.

* * *

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Sarah wondered aloud to herself. 

It had taken a lot of blustering, and several threats to call the police that had been dully ignored, but she had finally managed to get Jareth out of her house. Not that it particularly mattered since the bastard still had her key, which meant she'd be lucky if she didn't see him at all today.

Now, sitting at her kitchen table, Sarah couldn't help but wonder what had come over her last night. "I just _let_ the man kiss me and say all that territorial bullshit without a _single_ word of protest!" What had happened to the prickly young girl who had run through the Labyrinth, who had come toe-to-toe with the Goblin King and scoffed at him? "I'm not thinking like I used to," she mused. "Time must have dulled my instincts." It had been easy back then to snap and snarl at that king because she had known that he wasn't human, or at least not entirely, nowhere near trustworthy, and possessed a dangerous magic. But that was the sort of thinking that you lost as you got older. Magic stopped existing, you learned that no one was entirely trustworthy, and any question about a man wasn't over his species but rather how nice he looked. Where once she had seen merely an enticing challenge to overcome, she now saw something that she had been craving in the worst way possible: lean plains of muscle and a male presence.

Or perhaps she was letting confusion cloud her judgment. There still remained the vague possibility that Jareth could truly just be a normal guy. She snorted at that. "Mortal man or not, he certainly _acts_ like the Goblin King," Sarah chuckled, "I suppose it would be criminal to treat him any different then I used to." And there was no better way to find out who he was, either. She'd wasted so much time being preoccupied by his none-too-subtle advances that she hadn't really been able to think about how she could get any answers to this burning question. If she had to repeat everything she'd ever said to him those ten years ago, just to see how he'd react, then that's what she'd do! No more passivity for this girl!

Now if only she could forget the ghostly memory of his lips devouring her own.

* * *

She'd left him, but she hadn't been meant to. She'd won, but she hadn't been supposed to. He'd paid for both mistakes, paid dearly. Such a terrible thing they'd done to him, but he had found her, just like he said he would. At least he had been right about that. 

Things were beginning to happen, he was starting to leak back in thanks to her. How ironic that the one to take it all away was now the one who was giving it all back! They would send someone though, to keep them apart, to interfere.

He was really starting to hate that dwarf.

* * *

Jareth sat at his desk chair, typing idly and thinking his life over. It didn't take that long. Wildly successful and charmed to the bone, but he had always felt as though his life was missing something. Companionship, perhaps? Aside from Hoggleston, he really couldn't say that he had any true friends and his philosophy on romance had always been 'love 'em and leave 'em'. The constant affairs had all been some attempt on his part to fill the void he felt. 

With a confusing restlessness, his thoughts turned over to the latest lady in a long string of mistresses. Sarah… something about her was different. Undoubtedly he was being a bully, relentlessly pushing her in the direction that he wanted to go, but he wasn't being ruthless yet, not in the ways he knew he could be. Something about her stilled his hand, something deep and sad in her eyes. She had a look about her, as if she knew a secret that would blow the rest of the world away and, for whatever reason, he felt as though he was supposed to know that secret too. Jareth felt like he knew her, like a friend you'd had as a child and then met again years later, a vague imprint left of on a memory that wasn't strong enough to hold it.

No, something about Sarah was decidedly different. When was the last time he had actually had to plan out a seduction? Not since he'd truly cared about trying to build meaningful relationships, probably. But those days were long over, he was tired of searching for something that didn't exist, and brief affairs kept his life relatively uncomplicated. She was a sweet girl, the sort that deserved a man who would promise her eternity, but that was something he wasn't willing to give anymore, not since—

Someone knocked at the door, interrupting Jareth's thoughts.

'Well, well," he thought, trying to fight down a wicked smile, 'the lamb has come to the lion.' Except the lamb was wearing a tight black sweater, with half her lovely dark hair swept back into a ponytail, looking very determined and not lamb-ish in the least. He cocked is head to the side and leaned against the doorjamb. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Sarah gave him a quick once over, almost visibly steeled her nerves, and replied, "Turn about is fair play. You invaded my life, now I'm invading yours."

He stepped out of the door and made a sweeping gesture into his home. "Invade away," he chuckled.

A few minutes later found Sarah sitting on a couch, sipping wonderfully hot tea, and petting Ludo, who had once again happily curled up in her lap. The reason she had come was simple; know thine enemy, as the proverb went. She had been able to keep up with the Goblin King because she had already known him through stories; if she wanted to do the same thing now, then she had to get to know Jareth-the-_possibly_-mortal. Still, just so she didn't give off the wrong impression... "I'm not sleeping with you, just so you know" she said bluntly.

Jareth ignored her statement. "How did you get here?" he asked, stopping her from going through the mental inventory of small-talk questions she had decided to stick to for today.

"I walked," she answered simply. When he frowned and seemed about to launch himself into a lecture, she continued, "Well my phone is still dead, so I haven't been able to call a tow truck yet. Besides, it's only two miles."

"Two miles through a god-awful freezing drizzle. You're tempting fate, you know. Do you _want_ to end up sick?" Jareth sat down across from her, lounging indulgently across a loveseat, his crisp white sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and hair spilling around his face, looking slightly more wild than she had so far seen it.

"I'm not going to get sick," she rolled her eyes. She was hot because she always seemed to blush around this man, and she was cold because she had just walked two miles in less than pleasant weather. Nothing feverish about that, Sarah nodded to herself. "So tell me about yourself," she carried on before he could start berating her.

He seemed confused, perhaps taken aback. "What would you like to know?"

"Whatever you're willing to tell," was the immediate response. She thought about it, then quickly added, "And considering all crazy talk you put me through this morning, it had better be a lot."

Jareth smiled at her and seemed to contemplate his words. "I hate bees."

She stared at him. "Seriously," Sarah asked, annoyed "out of everything in the world you could tell me right now, all you're going to say is, 'I hate bees'?" Ludo gave a disgruntled sniff from her lap, as if to back up her incredulity.

"Stingy little bastards, they are," Jareth shrugged, taking a sip of his tea.

When it didn't seem as though he was going to elaborate, or try talking in general, she switched topics. "Why are you here?"

He stretched like a lazy lion, then slouched back into the loveseat. "I was standing in my apartment, looking over the lights and buildings of Boston when I had this horrible feeling. In that moment, I realized that if I were to drop dead no one would notice until my editor came storming by to see why I missed so many deadlines. It felt like the longer I spent working on this damn book, the more my life was passing me by. Boston isn't my home, merely the place that I live; I'm disconnected from everything around me."

Sarah raised a brow. "Is that why you're trying to get into my pants?" she asked, hoping to lighten the suddenly dark mood.

"I'm a red-blooded man and you're a lovely lady; do I need any other reason to get into your pants?" he replied with a devious look.

"How romantic of you," she rolled her eyes. "Why Maine though? It seems to me that the problem is your work, not where you live."

"Oh minx, you can't stop a writer from crafting words," Jareth explained lowly, seriously, "it would be as fatal to me as the cutting off of a knight's sword arm." He sat up a bit and sighed. "We all go through dark periods, but I can't stop writing anymore than you can stop breathing. Without my stories I'm just a man, but with them I'm a king. I can enchant millions with the stroke of a pen, keep audiences enraptured until the closing line, bring whatever joy can be achieved to those who find normal life tedious beyond endurance."

"But again, why do think that Maine is going to change things?" she asked, trying to understand this man across from her.

He patted his knee and Ludo leapt across the small coffee table to curl up beside him. "I can't change who I am," he answered, quietly stroking the cat, "but I can change _where_ I am. Admittedly, Maine was a random decision, but the atmosphere here is something I was craving; I need this distraction from the hell that this project has become. If I can get past this commission, finish this damn book, then I can get back to my normal life. I'll have the time and chance to set things straight and put some roots down for once."

"Why can't you do that here?" she questioned. "Seems to me you're just putting things off, ducking behind convenient excuses."

He was. For the longest time he had been looking for the right place to make home, but it had always been a case of the wrong place at the wrong time. It was like being adrift at sea, knowing you were looking for something, but having forgotten what it was. Life had been infinitely easier as a semi-reclusive writer, so he had simply stopped searching.

That didn't mean the desire ever went away though.

* * *

They had chatted for a while, running to lighter topics after the heavy air that had briefly settled over Jareth. It was strange, Sarah thought, that he seemed to yearn for some sort of meaning out of life, and yet shied away from the personal commitment that could bring him that satisfaction. She hadn't learned much about him though, it was very hard to get any personal information out of the man, and so he remained something of a mystery. It was all rather disheartening, really. How was she supposed to reach any sort of conclusion about who he was if he wouldn't cooperate with her plans? He was supposed to spill his guts so that she would know what she was facing, and be able to get on with her life!

Sarah kicked at a frozen pebble morosely. She was disappointed, confused, and walking back home in cold, misty mess. Jareth had all but demanded to drive her home, but she had needed to get away so that she could regroup and re-plan. Talking to the man was obviously difficult since he had a way of dancing rather skillfully around the subject. She would have to take a quieter approach to get personal details. The Goblin King issue still remained, though. Perhaps if she just discussed the Labyrinth with him point-blank; after all, he already thought she was crazy and/or incompetent, it wasn't as though anything she could say would really change his opinion of her. Worst-case scenario was that he really wasn't that Jareth, and maybe he'd leave her alone for fear of catching some taint of lunacy. And if he slipped in the other direction? Well, at least she'd have an answer.

Mind slightly at ease now that she had a general plan of attack, Sarah continued on her way home. The wind, while nowhere near as bad as it had been the night before, howled through the trees and cut straight through her thick coat. Shivering, she tried to quicken her pace, but her limbs were feeling lethargic and her head was getting heavy.

"Just half a mile more, Sarah," she told herself, "then you can put up your feet and rest a little." But her feet were firmly disagreeing that she could make it that far and the world was beginning to dance around her.

In the few second before she blacked out on the side of the road, Sarah was struck by the realization that she had felt this way before. It was oddly discomforting to know that she wasn't going to wake up to a Crystal Ball this time.

* * *

A/N: Two apologies: Sorry for the delay on this one, and sorry for the fact that nothing much happened in this chapter. I've been running around all week trying to get my schedule for next semester ironed out, so I've been a bit discombobulated. That's done now though, so there shouldn't be many other issues until finals.

This chapter is for yodeladyhoo. I hope this helped at least a little with your cannon cravings! Thanks for calling me on that. ;)

150 reviews for 6 chapters? You guys rock! I can't thank you enough.

Please Review!

Disclaimer: Not mine.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

_It was times like this that Sarah cursed the Labyrinth. In some ways it had brutalized her senses, brining such a vibrant world of fantasy to life. It made it hard to determine when she was just having a vivid dream, because the knowledge that such events truly could happen was always lurking in the back of her mind. Her adult brain told her that such strange things could not be, but her childish heart always replied that it had happened before, so why not again?_

_She was in the center of the hedge maze once more, staring at the dais made of giant stone books where the Wise Man had once sat. He was no longer there, offering strange advice or snoozing. Instead, a jagged fragment of sapphire, mounted onto a twisting silver display, sat in his place. The jewel hissed and blazed with a brilliant radiance, putting Sarah in mind of a blue flame. With a crack like lightning, a fissure split down the precious stone, releasing a specter she had no desire to see._

_Jareth. _

_This was, without a doubt, the Goblin King from long ago, but he was ghostly and insubstantial, looking like the washed and grainy image of an old movie. A wind blew through the small clearing, rusting the tiny hedge-leaves, but he was completely unaffected, not a single flutter of his cloak betraying to the weather conditions. _

"_How doth the little crocodile_

_Improve his shining tale,_

_And pour the waters of the Nile_

_On every golden scale!" Jareth recited, taking a step toward her._

_Sarah stood her ground, rooted to the spot in strange fascination. She knew those words, but from where? "What's going on?" she asked cautiously._

_He was behind her now, moving faster than she could comprehend, pressed to her back with one arm snaking around her shoulders while the other banded her waist. Quietly, he leaned down to her ear, and whispered in a wicked rumble:_

"_How cheerfully he seems to grin,_

_How neatly spreads his claws,_

_And welcomes little fishes in,_

_With gently smiling jaws!" _

_Sarah tried to shake him off but, for a ghost, he was frighteningly strong. "What's going on?" she repeated sharply, still trying to struggle away from his steel-like hold. The only thing that kept her from outright panicking at this point was her indecision over whether these events were truly happening._

_Jareth chuckled, his warm breath sliding across her ear and sensitive shoulder. "He'll be drawn to you, again and again, until you both give in. But don't be fooled, my stubborn Sarah, he's still a crocodile at heart and it will take a good deal of work from you to turn him into a content crocodile."_

_The words raced around her mind; she had no idea what the Goblin King was talking about, but she was positive that she had heard that poem before. Wasn't it from-_

* * *

"Alice in Wonderland!" Sarah shouted, bolting upright from a nest of pillows and blankets. 

"One of my favorite books," Jareth replied, gently shoving her back down.

Confused and feeling strangely muzzy, she let him pull the blankets back up, and quietly took in her surroundings for the first time. The room was neat and rectangular, with maple paneling creeping along the walls and earth toned, sectional rugs scattered about the floor. Rich chestnut furniture dotted the area, a large desk and armoire taking up a good deal of space. There were two windows on opposite walls, letting in the weak sun through a latticework of silk and velvet drapes. On the wall directly across from her was an old brick fireplace, the sooty iron curtain ensuring that the crackling flames would stay within their grate. And finally was the bed. It was massive, probably bigger than was wise in such a compact room, and heaped with all manner of bedclothes. A textural adventure is what it was; one layer of sheets revealed smooth silk while the next boasted micro-fiber fleecy comfort, another layer turned out to be wool, and beneath that was jersey-knit cotton. With so much on top of her and a fire burning cheerfully nearby, Sarah was having a hard time figuring out why she wasn't simply dying of heat. She almost pulled a few layers off, just on the sheer principle, but a closely hovering Jareth lightly smacked her wrist. As if she were a naughty child or something!

"Where am I?" she finally asked, remembering her abrupt fainting-spell through the haze of her dream. "This isn't my room," she added thickly, wanting to kick herself after realizing how stupid that had sounded.

"No," Jareth agreed, "it's mine." His fingers deftly tucked the sheets around her just a little tighter, his proximity revealing his faint annoyance. "You collapsed on the side of the road, which was exactly what I was afraid would happen. Hopefully next time you won't be so stubborn about accepting a ride home."

"If you were so worried then why didn't you follow me?" she asked snidely, a vague sense of dizziness making her feel snappish.

He ignored her question, carrying on as though she hadn't even spoken. "And you're damn lucky that Ciren found you before too much time had passed."

Sarah pushed the blankets down from her neck, feeling utterly ridiculous at Jareth's fussing. "Who?" she asked, belatedly registering the unfamiliar name.

Jareth sighed, seeming disappointed that his tirade had been interrupted. "Sarah, Doctor Ciren Didymus. Didymus, Sarah Williams," he introduced, drawing her attention to a man she had previously missed in her scan of the room.

He was a tall and lanky sort of fellow, with sharp-looking elbows and a bony frame. His face was angular, but softened by his warm brown eyes (or at least the one she could see, for the left eye was covered by a leather patch), prominent laugh lines, and the bushy graying mustache that twitched above is upper lip. Despite the conspicuous evidence of his advancing age, he still had a full head of somewhat long orangey-auburn hair. And in spite of the extreme size differences, he still put her in mind of the brave little knight she had once known, especially when he bowed his head in greeting with a quietly murmured, "My Lady."

"Didymus is an… acquaintance of mine," Jareth interrupted Sarah's mental stumbling, "visiting from abroad. Rather fortuitous, considering that you've chosen to take ill after all."

"Doctor Didymus," she mumbled to herself, disbelievingly.

"Indeed," the elder man smiled affectionately.

"But you're a valiant knight!" Sarah insisted.

'Ciren' turned to Jareth, the tiniest hint of regret shadowing his clear expression. "Fevers can make even the most stable of us rave with the silliest of ideas," he commented lightly. "As I said to you before, I don't believe she's in any serious condition, but you should keep an eye on her fever nonetheless."

Jareth nodded, then ducked out of the room with a quick, "Excuse me," when a kettle began to whistle from somewhere else in the house, leaving Sarah and Didymus alone.

"I don't know what's going on," Sarah said stiffly, feeling extra defensive due to her prone position, "but I never would have expected you, of all people, to try to fool me."

Didymus sighed heavily, his good eye looking weary. "Regret is an odd emotion because it comes only upon reflection. Regret lacks immediacy, and so its power seldom influences events when it could do some good," he whispered quietly. "I am sorry that you are feeling hurt; it was not meant to be this way."

Clever how he could give her an answer without actually proving he was the Didymus that she knew. But he hadn't denied it, either. "Why are you here?"

He gave a tight, humorless smile, an expression that was very much at odds with his natural levity. "Visiting the boy," he answered, standing to leave. "A bit of advice, my dear Lady?" Didymus paused, his hand resting lightly on the doorknob. "Stay away from him as much as you can."

* * *

Jareth relaxed into his seat, keeping an eye on the sleeping Sarah. Didymus had left rather unexpectedly, claiming the need to find himself a hotel for the week, and Sarah had been strangely quiet and sullen for nearly an hour after his departure. Even the loudly purring and cuddle-craving Ludo had been unable to cheer her up, but Jareth chalked that up to the fever; poor health could turn a saint into a veritable dragon, and Sarah was no more immune irritable moods than anybody else. Luckily, she had fallen asleep not too long after that, and Jareth had been left with the disquieting sensation of having no idea what to do. 

She looked so fragile now, he thought. Pale and lost in a sea of blankets, like a china-doll wrapped in velvet. He almost wished Didymus hadn't left. Truth be told, Jareth was a lousy nursemaid; he'd seldom had to take care of anyone other than himself. It was strange to know that someone was depending on him, that what he did or didn't do could so easily affect the poor girl. Stranger still was the fact that this tiny feminine creature was being swallowed up the enormity of his bed, and he had absolutely no desire to take advantage of that situation.

"He's a fox, you know," came Sarah's quiet whisper. "Didymus, that is," she clarified.

Jareth studied her for a moment; her eyes were still closed, as if in sleep, but her breathing had turned ragged. "Why do you say that?"

"And Ludo," she continued as though he hadn't spoken, "is really a huge, furry monster."

"Alight," he appeased, wondering if he ought to check her temperature again.

But Sarah didn't seem to hear him. She pinned him with a glassy green stare, eyes bright with fever and something that he couldn't quite name. "And you," a rough cough abruptly cut her off, instantly bringing Jareth to her side, but she held out a hand to stop him. "You're the Goblin King," she said with such a deep conviction he nearly winced.

"So we're back to that again, are we?" he asked quietly, trying to coax her into taking a drink of water.

She seemed affronted by his lack of understanding. "It's the truth," she insisted.

"Perhaps we should discuss this when I'm a little less certain that your having delusions," Jareth suggested softly, wondering yet again what had once happened to her.

Sarah gently grabbed a fistful of his hair, bringing him down close to her. "You look and act just like him," she growled.

Her words flew straight over his head, completely unheard. The second she had dragged him lower, his entire focus had zeroed in on her sweet lips, so close to his own and yet better left untouched for now. "You're killing me, minx," Jareth groaned. How torturous to have her so deeply ensconced within his personal territory, nestled in his bed like she belonged there, and yet be so completely unable to give in to temptation! On most days Jareth considered himself to be a rotten bastard, but even he wouldn't take advantage of a woman who was slightly out of her mind with fever.

She wasn't making it easy, though. Even in sickness she had a strange vitality about her, a spirit that refused to be subdued. And some masochistic part of him couldn't help but remember the bliss of her lips sliding hungrily against his own, the silken feel of her skin, how wonderful it had been to be on top of her, and how much he wanted to try it all again. She was so close, he lamented, and yet so very far.

With deft care, he untangled himself from her. "Rest," he encouraged, "if you still remember any of this when you're well again, then we'll talk." And, with any luck, he would be able to use this time that she was in his care as a way to gain her trust. Although, in his opinion, he should have just earned that considering the fact that he had managed to pull away from her without exploring any of those wonderful curves.

* * *

A/N: Didymus to the rescue! You were all expecting it to be Jareth, weren't you? Sorry about the length, I'll see if I can get another chapter out this weekend but I'm just a little busy right now. 

Thanks for all the reviews, everyone! You make me feel so special.

Please Review!

Disclaimer: 'How doth the little crocodile' belongs to Lewis Carroll; Labyrinth belongs to Jim Henson; Didymus's line about regret is a quote from William O'Rourke.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Silas Hoggleston was not a Boston native, as he often told people; he was old, but by no means a man. The portly gent who appeared to be in the full bloom of his twilight years was just the mask that everyone saw; under the skin he was really a dwarf, a child of nature who was only putting up with humanity because he had a mission to complete.

The Boston Gardens were beautiful this time of year, the trees painted in wonderfully vibrant red and yellow foliage, with just a hint of snow in the air. It was the sort of weather that Hoggleston enjoyed immensely despite the fact that, as a gardener, spring was his working season. With a heavy woolen coat and a tired limping gait, Silas quietly made his way through the park, watching the families and young lovers pass him by. He wanted so badly to enjoy this peaceful moment, but it was useless.

Things were going wrong. This was the first bit of trouble that they'd had in ten years, but it threatened everything they had worked for. He didn't blame the girl; lord knew, this time it really _wasn't_ her fault, but she was jeopardizing the entire plan.

The fact of the matter was that he needed help. The plan had been his, but he hadn't been able to do it on his own; he had enlisted the help of others, and for quite a while it had gone splendidly. But they had hit a sudden rough patch, like driving over black ice at midnight, totally unexpected. He needed more help, and so it was with no small amount of trepidation that he made his way further into the gardens, every step taking him away from people and closer to the Wise Man.

* * *

Sarah tossed and turned under the heavy sheets, burning and freezing, trying to find a position that eased the weight on her chest or the ache in her head. She wasn't quite sure how high her fever had gotten, but she was feeling uninhibited enough to guess that she had reached the edges of delirium, at the very least. 

Jareth, who had hovered for much longer than Sarah was strictly comfortable with, was now sitting at his desk, the rhythmic clicking of his typing fingers both irritating and soothing. He wouldn't believe her, she lamented while trying to suppress a cough. She hadn't reached an official decision yet, but at this point she was pretty certain that he wasn't pretending; for some reason, he just didn't remember. And now, thanks to the advent of Didymus, she was no longer willing to even entertain the possibility that he was not the Goblin King; there were just too many coincidences, too many similarities for her to believe it was even an option anymore.

Which meant she had to make him remember.

They had shared something strange and profound, something that hadn't been meant to be forgotten, but he had. Sarah wanted to know why. What had he done after she'd won, or what had been done to him? The earliest Jareth Corbett novel that she knew about had been published eight years ago, so he had been living with the bizarre amnesia for at least that long. Strange how the Goblin King had done little but torment her and yet she was determined to be the one who helped him to become what he had once been.

But he hadn't been willing to listen to her when she'd tried to tell him about Didymus and Ludo, so how was she supposed to make him hear her out? Perhaps, if she told it like a story, the writer in him would be unable to ignore it and, hopefully, neither would whatever was left of the Goblin King.

* * *

To most people the hotel room would look rather average at first glance. Upon closer inspection however, the tiny and troubling details came out. A lance was propped in the far corner, the shaggy sheepdog that was sleeping by the window was wearing a miniature saddle blanket, there were strange jewels and crystals placed on nearly every flat surface, and the occupant of the room as talking to a mirror, to a reflection that was not his own.

"I don't like it," Didymus grumped. "It was one thing to lie to the boy, but to Lady Sarah? 'Tis most ungentlemanly. She is stuck in the middle of this terrible debacle and doesn't even know what is going on."

Within the mirror the stout figure of Hoggle shook his head. "Just try to keep her off the scent."

"Jareth Corbett, Ciren Didymus, Silas Hoggleston, and Ludo the cat; to anyone else these names would mean very little, but our Sarah is a smart woman, my brother. She knows. Mayhap not the details nor the whys of any of it, but she sees through the ruse," Didymus sighed wearily. Barely even a week out of Boston, and Hoggle's watchful eyes, and he had found _her_. Just as he had promised before… Well, _before_.

It was as though they were destined to be, a fact Didymus would find endlessly romantic if the situation were different.

Hoggle rubbed his temples, the gesture a telling sign, more than the bags under his eyes, that he hadn't slept very much in the past few days. But then, none of them had, not since the boy had left for Maine. "Then keep them apart," he finally growled out.

Didymus jerked back, surprised that his friend would ask such a thing of him. "I took an oath to help you with Jareth, and so I shall, but I refuse to start meddling in Lady Sarah's life as well! She's already feeling hurt enough as it is, and I am loathe to see the sweet maiden distressed; I will not add to that."

Hoggle didn't seem particularly surprised by his answer, only a slight deepening of his frown betraying his dashed hopes. "Does that hotel of yours have any vacancies?"

Didymus didn't like where this was going, but still replied, "Indeed, it does."

"Then don't worry about it. If you aren't up to keeping the two of them separate, I will."

* * *

Jareth stared at his computer screen blankly. It wasn't necessarily that he didn't have any ideas, he had plenty, he just couldn't seem to write them. Add to that irritation the fact that he had eaten very little over the past few hours, probably had more caffeine than blood flowing through his veins at the moment, was starting to develop a habit out of darting looks over his shoulder to make sure Sarah was still alive, and it all made for a very tense man. 

She had started getting violent coughing fits somewhere during the afternoon, and Jareth would have been lying if he said it didn't scare the hell out of him. Didymus had told him Sarah wasn't in any serious condition, but then Didymus hadn't heard her body's valiant efforts at expelling one of her lungs. It put him in mind of tuberculosis, as irrational as that was, and so he kept turning around to search her lips for even the tiniest hint of ruby blood. Then there were the shivers that she had been getting intermittently since the late morning; at times they were so bad that he was convinced she was having some sort of a fit. He had wanted to give her more blankets, as many as he had in the house if that's what it took, but he didn't want to overheat her and had never really understood how blankets helped a fever anyway, since the problem was the body temperature being too high.

Jareth was a brilliant author, but a rather lousy excuse for a human being in his own opinion. If he had been nervous after the first few hours Didymus had left, it was child's play compared to how he felt now. He knew nothing about taking care of other people! Most of his efforts had been met with no results or just plain resistance from Sarah. After a while he'd been forced to relax a little, give her some space to rest, but that didn't stop him from flinching and checking on her every time he heard that horrible, wheezing cough rip itself from her throat.

"Once upon a time," Sarah suddenly whispered, her voice raspy and slow, "there was a young girl who felt as though all the trouble of the world had been placed upon her shoulders."

Jareth stood and went to her side, one pale hand caressing her cheek, checking for fever. "You're burning up," he said with no small amount of concern. Gently he tried to push her back down, but she remained resolute in her semi-sitting position. "You ought to rest."

She looked at him with wild eyes, green orbs that all but screamed she wasn't seeing the world for what it was. But just beyond that, tucked quietly behind the delirious haze was a glimmer of the woman he had been starting to come to know; more specifically, what he saw was stubbornness. Whatever it was that she wanted to say, whatever strange dream she was wandering through, was going to be shared.

Sarah seemed to relax when he pulled his chair over to the bedside and waited for her to continue. A few heavy breaths rattled through her congested chest as she tried to make herself comfortable for the telling of her story. "Her mother, through some strange twist of fate, fell in love with a man who was not her husband…"

And so, over the next hour, Jareth learned about the young girl, a lonely child who had felt forgotten when her father remarried; a girl who had turned to angry outbursts because even anger seemed a better treat than neglect. She was a child who had been at odds with everyone around her, who had craved affection but had never quite been able to achieve it. He learned about someone who had stumbled and staggered through one too many wrong turns while trying to grow up, someone that his jaded heart wanted to reach out to, to protect.

Suddenly Sarah changed, seemed to fall deeper inside herself, trance-like and yet somehow strong. "But what no one knew was that the King of the Goblins had fallen in love with the girl…"

And just like that, the story changed; became something more, beautiful and graceful and familiar. This wasn't the leather-bound play he had once known; it was too rich, too _alive_ to be anything but Sarah's. Her characters fell in and out of the story with the ease of dancers, bringing every new scene to life. The tale wove around him, haunting and enchanting, making him crave… something.

Something… just at the edge of memory… something important, addictive… something that was _his_. More, so much more… not a writer… not a writer, anymore.

* * *

Sarah watched Jareth carefully. She knew that, on some level, he understood she wasn't just telling him a story, that she was trying to tell him what had once happened. He had loved the recounting, but hadn't seemed particularly interested in taking her word for fact. Lover of fantasy though he may have been, a part of him was just wholly unwilling to take something so monumental on faith alone. She had almost given up hope, but… 

But at the end of the story, something had flickered through him, not visibly but she had sensed it in the same way a small animal knew when a predator was around. For the briefest of moments the eyes that had looked at her had been both bitter and affectionate, ageless and playful, the eyes of the Goblin King. They were back to the smoldering depths and mocking civility of Jareth Corbett, but that tiny moment gave her hope. Buried in there somewhere was the ethereal creature of ten years ago; someone that she had come to fear and adore. She'd find a way to bring him back, no matter what.

For the first time that day, Sarah was almost glad that she had gotten sick.

* * *

"Why now?" Hoggleston grumbled to himself. Though generally irritable by nature, traveling made him even more so. And traveling by train, crammed in with who knew how many mortals while trying to conceal the fact that he was not human? He felt like a bomb that was ready to go off. "We were so close!"

* * *

A/N: Sorry that this chapter's a bit late, I was traveling most of the week (it feels like I visited with my ENTIRE family in the course of four days). I'm actually in the car as I type this (cruising through the farmland of Iowa, which is sort of why I'm writing), 3 hours in to an 8 hour drive; I've never written in a car before, so I apologize if anything seems strange about this chapter. 

Thanks for all the reviews everybody; I really appreciate it!

Please Review!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything recognizable as having come from the movie Labyrinth.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

The Wise Man was old, older than anyone, perhaps even older than the Labyrinth itself. And like anyone else Underground, he was not exactly what he seemed.

It made Didymus uneasy.

* * *

Sarah was sleeping again, but her words were still racing around in Jareth's mind. Her story had been so new, and yet so familiar. Something itched at the fringes of his memory, plaguing and taunting him. He knew it was ridiculous to take her tale as anything but fantasy, but something about it had felt so _right_. 

What was it about this girl that made him so confused? It wasn't like Jareth to get so disoriented; his control was unshakeable, and yet…

She was still flushed, even though her fever was finally breaking, lost in the vastness of his bed, and looking so very vulnerable. If those sweet eyes opened they'd probably still be glazed a bit, and her voice would carry the rasp of coughing. It made him want to take her pain away. He, who had never cared for a woman beyond the simple pleasures of sex, was feeling unaccountably protective.

Gently, he brushed a lock of hair away from her forehead. "If you're not careful, Sarah," Jareth whispered to the sleeping woman, "I may be tempted to keep you."

* * *

"_He'll never let you go," the Goblin King smiled wickedly, circling Sarah like a starved panther._

_The Wise Man's garden again, she thought, trying her best not to let the devilish king at her back. She wasn't sure why her dreams kept taking her to this part of the hedge maze, and she was plenty certain she didn't like who kept meeting her there. "What are you talking about?" she finally snapped back._

"_He doesn't know it yet, of course," he continued, ignoring her words, "but he's already decided to make you his." Uneven blue eyes regarded her from behind hooded lids a moment before his arms shot around her waist, dragging her solidly against him. "As if there was ever really any question; you were doomed from the start," the king chuckled, running his lips lightly over the side of her neck._

_Sarah shivered, confused with his words and conflicted with his actions. It felt nice, nicer than it should, and positively sinful when he grazed her skin with those wicked sharp teeth of his, but she couldn't fully enjoy it. If he and Jareth were the same person then why did the Goblin King keep talking in the third person? Last time they had met, what had all that talk of crocodiles been about? And what was he going on about now? Last she had checked, the only thing on Jareth Corbett's agenda was hot, sweaty sex. A man who obviously loathed commitment that much didn't _keep_ women, especially not one he barely knew; he gave them a few rough hours between silky sheets, then sent them on their way._

_The Goblin King bit at the soft underside of her jaw, right where her pulse was fluttering wildly, then gently licked at the spot to soothe it. Pleasure shot straight down Sarah's spine again and again as he repeated the process. She had never been into pain in the bedroom, but a little biting had always been welcome. It made her hot in ways that she couldn't begin to describe; backseat fumbling and pawing at her breasts had never even sent a spark through her, but a few nips in the right places could have her falling apart in ecstasy. There was something primal about the act, something so raw and unrefined, as though he found her desirable enough to drop the civilized veneer and let her see the sensual animal that had always lurked beneath the surface._

* * *

Jareth stared at Sarah, completely entranced. She was on her back, spine arched and neck bared, making the most delicious noises he had ever heard. A whimper escaped her and her hips began to softly undulate, searching for the friction that she so obviously craved. 

"She must be having one hell of a dream," he murmured to himself. But who about, a part of him wanted to know. He'd never been a possessive man before, there was no point in working up that much emotion when you weren't serious about entering a relationship, but the truth was that it bothered him to consider the fact that she might be dreaming of some other man giving her such pleasure. She whimpered again, nearly tossing onto her side, and threw her head back farther. The delicate column of her throat was pale, but flushed in excitement and he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to take his lips over such succulent flesh.

Jareth could picture the whole thing perfectly in his mind. He'd have his arms tight around her waist, not necessarily to prevent escape, but because he desperately wanted those gentle curves of hers pressed against him. Perhaps he would start with a few light kisses around her ears or throat, then a bite at her pulse point because the skin bruised easily there and it was his favorite place to leave a mark. And mark her he would, nips and lovebites in as many places as possible to warn others that this nymph was spoken for. He could just imagine that a bite in the right spot would make her wild, neck bared-

* * *

_-nearly begging for more. The man was barely even doing anything and Sarah felt like she was about to climax. _

_The Goblin King moved to her ear, gently nibbled at the lobe and let out a husky moan. "So close, my little Sarah," he whisper to her, "already, parts of me are being called back. I'll be free in no time at all." One set of fingers, as elegant and glove-covered as always, moved from her waist and slid down her tummy, coming to rest at the juncture of her thighs, nearly wringing another whimper out of her sex deprived body. A wicked smile crossed his face. "We'll finish this then, shall we?" he asked, giving her apex a light squeeze, before disappearing with that infuriating laugh of his._

* * *

The charming little fantasy that Jareth had been entertaining dissolved the second Sarah opened her eyes. For a moment she seemed disoriented, as though struggling to understand where she was, but once she locked eyes with him the expression vanished. Her green orbs were narrowed in anger, and in a flash she had vaulted out of the bed, straddled his legs, and effectively pinned him to his desk chair. 

"You irritating, arrogant bastard!" she growled, pressing her knees against his hips and clenching her hands tight over his shoulders. "You're always so _generous_ with your affections when I'm trying desperately not to be interesting, but what do you do when I finally reach a point where I don't give a damn? You leave me hanging!" she seethed, looking like a wrathful goddess above him, hair wild, chest heaving, and eyes snapping fire.

Jareth wouldn't deny that he was enjoying the view, and most certainly enjoying their position, but he was awfully confused what the darling little minx was going on about now. "Sarah," he began, but she cut him off.

"Shut up and kiss me," she snarled, balling a first in his shirt and hauling him to her lips.

* * *

Silas Hoggleston and Ciren Didymus made odd companions, one being a foul-tempered and stocky old man, while the other was genial, lanky, and not quite as far into his twilight. Even odder was the ancient man that joined them, a gnarled old fellow with long white hair, who hobbled about with the help of a cane. But looks were often deceiving, for though his body was wasted, the ancient one's eyes betrayed a sharp intellect. 

"Well?" Hoggle asked, bushy brows lowering over his eyes tiredly. The train ride to Maine had been less than pleasant and the last thing he wanted to do was sit there and plan, but action needed to be taken and fast.

Didymus shrugged, bristly mustache twitching. "I cannot say. They didn't appear terribly close, but the boy was rather worried when Lady Sarah took ill."

The Wise Man nodded, though it was unclear if he had actually heard anything.

Hoggle dragged a hand down his face. "Listen, I don't blame anyone for this, these things happen, but we have to stop it from turning into a disaster. I don't want to hurt the little lady none, but a bargain's a bargain, and if we lose Jareth will…" he trailed off, sighing heavily. "We just need to fix this before it gets any worse."

"Already his magic begins to find cracks out of its prison, thanks to her," the Wise Man cracked open an eye, twisted fingers tightening over the head of his cane. "You have wasted much time and opportunity, Silas Hoggleston; surely this girl cannot mean so much to you that you would be willing to risk failure?"

Hoggle gulped. No, failure was not an option, but Sarah was his friend and he _couldn't_ be ruthless against her.

The Wise Man shrugged and got to his unsteady feet. "My magic is at your disposal, my lads, but it makes no difference if you are unwilling to make sacrifices." And with that, the ancient one disappeared from the hotel room.

"Sacrifices?!" Didymus snapped, uncharacteristically angry. "We've already made more sacrifices than that wretch could ever understand! A young woman's love and trust is not something that can be thrown away with both hands; it is blasphemous to even think of it."

Hoggle sighed with a heavy heart. "But if we don't?" he asked of his pacing companion. "Would you really want to see Jareth, should we fail?"

* * *

Damn him, Sarah thought angrily, working her lips harshly over his. How was it that this man could muddle her up so badly, make her react so violently? Sure she found him attractive, almost beyond endurance, but at the moment she wasn't even sure that she particularly liked him. She wasn't looking for casual sex, she wasn't comfortable with the idea of being connect to this aggravating man as anything other than his neighbor, she was too angry to try to figure out what was wrong with his memory, and pissed beyond belief that he had stoked such fire in her and left her to fend for herself. What sort of a man promised so much, then refused to deliver? 

A sadistic one, she answered herself, catching Jareth's bottom lip and giving it a sharp nip. He created so many problems, sending her life into chaos. She wanted him and yet wanted nothing to do with him; craved being around him, and yet dreaded it, too.

Finally, Sarah parted from him, slumping her head against his shoulder. "You don't know what you do to me," she huffed, temped to punch him in the arm.

Jareth brought his arm tightly around her and chuckled. "I think I have an idea."

* * *

A/N: Well, I could apologize but I do that every chapter; 'tis the season to study your ass of, but thankfully my finals are now over. I'm traveling for two or three days next week, but I don't imagine that will interfere with my writing any. So what can you expect in the future? More Bodice Ripper, perhaps the first few chapters of Listen for Thunder (the much anticipated sequel to Dramatic Orchestrations), My Snow White Queen (a short story I'm working on for Garden Celandine), and maybe a few one-shots. To those who have messaged or emailed me: I'm sorry I've not responded yet, I have a backlog that I'm trying to get through, so please don't think I'm ignoring you or anything. 

This chapter is dedicated to Sculder the Goblin Queen, as an early birthday present. I hope this makes you happy!

Thanks for the reviews everyone, I don't know how I would get anything done without your encouragement!

Please Review!

Disclaimer: I barely even claim to own the story, seeing as you can find most of it in just about any romance novel you choose to pick up.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

The Labyrinth was oddly serene. No one moved through the endless maze, small animals hunkered down into their burrows, the forests and hedge maze laid still in the absence of a breeze, and the Goblin City was silent.

To the goblins, this was a fate worse than death. Silence was unnatural and unwanted. They thrived on chaos, and the preternatural lethargy that had swept the kingdom was like a plague of biblical proportions.

In a corner of the castle, far from the throne room and its echoing chamber, a small group met in secret, whispering and hissing for change.

"It must be stopped," the leader of the goblin troupe snarled. He was a squat fellow with a bulbous head, tiny ears, and a hooked nose.

"Stop the silence," the maudlin group murmured in agreement.

One stepped forward, a tall, sludge-green, foot soldier. "This never happened under King Jareth; he looked out for us. Not at all like this bastard, who couldn't care less!"

The leader nodded glumly, remembering happier days. "We need someone to overthrow the current king, and the only person we're all going to agree on for the job is Jareth. Byron," he called.

A lanky goblin appeared before the others, obviously reluctant to receive orders and yet still comporting himself with an air of arrogance. "Yes?"

"Bring us back our king," was the simple command.

* * *

Though most runners would never guess by looking at them, goblins actually possessed a great deal of magic and were quite powerful when determined enough to keep their focus. Byron had never had trouble focusing, but then he hadn't been born a goblin. The wished away always seemed to lose themselves after the change in species, completely forgetting who they had been and what life had once been like, but Jareth had helped him to retain his humanity. Often, he wondered if it had been a fool idea on both their parts, he could never completely be a human anymore, but nor could he fully be a goblin. On the best of days, he felt like he was being pulled apart by two different horse teams.

But that extra something made Byron the best candidate for missions in the Above, doubly so when it came to Jareth, for no one knew Jareth better than Byron. The hardest part would be figuring out how to reveal himself; humans saw what they wanted to, and if they didn't believe in goblins then they simply wouldn't see them. Occasionally, Byron could assume a human form, but the circumstances had to be just right for him to pull it off perfectly.

He sighed, rummaging through his belongings for anything that might be of assistance. At the moment, Byron was conflicted; the Aboveground had never bothered him, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to see Jareth just now. He'd been bitter, at first, after _it_ had happened, resenting the Goblin King for the way things had turned out, but Jareth had been sympathetic in those days and had done everything in his power to make Byron's life as easy as possible. The bitterness had turned into a wary affection, but there would always be a lingering feeling of betrayal.

He'd always kept his distance from the Goblin City, when possible, but Jareth's forcible eviction from the thrown had brought Byron running. He hadn't believed the rumors of a runner winning until it was too late, and Jareth had already been gone by the time the frantic goblin had reached the castle. For centuries, Byron had known that the blonde egomaniac was at the castle, and that thought had comforted him; perhaps nothing in the Labyrinth made sense and it was a strange world that he had never wanted to join, but Jareth had made things bearable for him. Now he was gone, lost to some bizarre power and never to be heard from again.

Unacceptable.

Byron might not have liked the Goblin King nine times out of ten, but that one time meant the world to him. This wasn't about getting a king back, it was about retrieving the only thing that made sense in Byron's life.

* * *

Another thing not often well known about goblins was that they could change their size at will. Usually, Byron found it best to stay relatively tall, so as not to get trampled by anything, but, not knowing whether Jareth would be able to see him or not, he chose to traverse the Aboveground in the smallest form he could achieve, no bigger than a young child's palm. It was the perfect size for mischief and hiding.

His first stop was a rather nondescript hotel room. Finding Jareth would be a snap, but retrieving him alone was something Byron wasn't sure he could do. He needed help, and who better than the ever-faithful Didymus? Why he was Aboveground, though, confused Byron; it had been centuries since Didymus had been part of the human world. Perhaps he was missing Jareth too, the goblin reasoned; they had been awful close, even before Byron's transformation.

In retrospect, Bryon would never be able to quite pinpoint what it was that made him hide in one of the air-vents. Perhaps it was natural caution, or the goblin's love of all places dark and dusty, but he would always be glad that he'd done it.

"Look," a rough voice growled out, one he had no trouble identifying as the gardener that Jareth had loved to tease, "I'm not asking for a lot. You just do your best to keep Sarah away from Jareth, and I'll do my best to keep him busy. They'll grow apart, we'll meet our time mark, and then it will all be done."

A sigh rent the air and, though he couldn't see the source of it from behind the narrow slats of the vent, Byron was sure that it had come from Didymus. "I am still not sure that we're doing what is right," came his weary response.

"Now's not the time to get cold feet, Didymus!" Hoggle snapped back. "We've worked too hard to let it end here. Trust me, when it's all over and you look back on this, you'll know that it was worth it. It bothers me that Sarah's gotten caught in the crossfire, believe me it's the last thing I wanted, but we can try to explain it to her later, once the Wise Man's no longer involved."

Byron reared back in surprise. The Wise Man? Nothing good ever came of that old wretch, he thought acerbically. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he recognized a conspiracy when he saw one, and anything involving the Wise Man was shady, at best. Jareth was obviously in some kind of danger. Had the ancient one learned of the goblins' plan for rebellion and decided to take countermeasures?

Byron let out a disappointed sigh. Didymus might have been having a change of heart, but it would still be dangerous to ask him for help. It looked like the tiny goblin was going to have to find assistance somewhere else.

* * *

Jareth's home was oddly small, considering his overwhelming love for all things opulent and gaudy but, somehow, the woodsy little cabin suited him. Bryon sat in a rhododendron near the front door, considering his options. There weren't many avenues open to him; he could try confronting Jareth outright, but if the ex-Goblin King couldn't see him then he would need some other way of drawing attention. That would be hard, Byron mused; goblins were good at making trouble, small disasters even, but something in their magic was specially designed not to get them caught.

Getting into the house was simple enough, but navigating it was another matter. A strange presence filled the cabin, a tenseness that was waiting for release and it set Byron on edge. Dark shadows loomed throughout the empty lower floor, a lone cat being the only living creature he came upon. The great beast watched his progress lazily, a disconcerting familiarity hovering behind his feline eyes. There was something remarkably uncomfortable about the entire situation, and the tiny goblin only hoped that the Wise Man hadn't beaten him to Jareth.

* * *

A/N: Yep, shortest chapter ever. No J/S, but Byron is important, trust me. This makes a really sad Christmas present, I know, so I'll try to make next chapter longer than usual. Anyway, have a very happy holidays everybody, and I'll probably talk to you all again before New Years.

Please Review!

Disclaimer: Not mine.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Sarah's head cleared a little, enough for her to realize that she was straddling the lap of a man who she had previously turned down in every way she knew how, the lap of a man who drove her absolutely insane. It was also the lap of the _wrong_ man.

The strange thing was, she didn't particularly care.

In theory, Jareth Corbett and the Goblin King were the same man, but it was the Goblin King who had mercilessly teased her, Jareth had just been the convenient outlet for that tension and anger. And yet… If they truly were the same person, then it didn't particularly matter whose lap she ended up in, did it? Why treat one any different from the other? If the Goblin King had done it, then it stood to reason that Jareth had the capacity to do the same, even, arguably, the_ desire_ to do the same.

She burrowed her face into the crook of his shoulder, thinking. Was keeping them separate in her mind keeping them separate in reality? Was the catalyst she needed simply in action rather than memory, to treat the two halves as the same person in order to _make_ them the same person? Sarah groaned, confused, frustrated, and yes, she admitted to herself, still decidedly horny.

Jareth frowned down at the woman in his arms. "That wasn't a good groan. You're thinking, aren't you?" He let out a dramatic sigh. "Thinking is bad for the libido. Kiss me."

She shook her head, dark hair falling over his shoulder and whispering down his arm. It felt nice, inviting even; that hair was just begging his fingers to curl around the silky strands, to pamper, to pet… to use as leverage in order to angle her head properly.

"Nothing is ever simple with you, is it?" Sarah let out a frustrated huff that ghosted over his neck in the most deliciously distracting way.

"What's so complicated?" came Jareth's immediate, strained reply. "You just put your lips over mine and we'll work it out from there." She was definitely thinking, he decided, only a thinking woman would ignore such an invitation from a man she obviously desired.

She shook her head again, glossy locks trailing up his arm as she sat up straight. "I think you have amnesia," she said suddenly, looking him in the eye so that he could see her sincerity.

Jareth stared at her oddly for a moment, the replied, "And I think you have intimacy problems. Let's screw." Forget seduction, he wanted inside this woman's pants and he wanted there _now_. His finer parts were in serious danger of suffocating in pants that were much too tight. Her wiggling bottom and lusciously stimulating assets were not helping.

Sarah choked on a laugh. "I can't believe you just said that! Are you always so bold-faced?"

He brought his hands up to cover her own, still resting on his shoulders. Head cocked, he replied, "I know what I want from this world, minx, and have a tendency to go after it with single-minded intensity. So yes, I am always this bold-faced; perhaps not usually so crude, but the intent is there." He rolled hips that were still being hugged by her knees. "Besides, you have to admit, you _did_ start it. Can't blame a man for wanting to finish it."

She seemed to fight a quick battle within herself and, he cursed, it was a struggle that her basic instincts apparently lost. "I'm serious," she said breathily, "we've met before, and you don't remember even the tiniest thing about it."

"Then let's make new memories," he replied lightly, ducking his head to nip at the underside of her jaw.

"Jareth," she growled warningly, rearing back enough to prevent him from his goal.

"And you say _I'm_ being difficult," he muttered. Damn it all, how was it this woman could blow so hot and cold? Here he was, nearly lost to higher reasoning, and she was trying to have a _conversation_. It was cruel that women could remain so levelheaded in their desire; he had no control over where his blood supply decided to wander, and it was a damn shame she wasn't more sympathetic to that fact. "Do we _really_ have to talk?" he asked, sounding dangerously like a pouting teenager.

Sarah nearly snickered at his whine, it was just so childish and… endearing. Poor man, she laughed to herself; she really could sympathize, he'd done it to her in the dream, after all. A wicked part of her was pleased that she'd been able to return the favor. "If we talk," she soothed, smoothing a hand down his cheek, "that means spending more time together." He snorted, as if to say he knew of a much better way to spend time. "But not right now," she amended, shooting off his lap, "I have a shop to run."

Jareth's hand closed about her wrist as she tried to walk passed his chair. "You're still ill, and in no condition to work."

"My fever is gone," she protested, trying to shake his steely grasp.

He shook his head, managing to make her feel as though he was looking down his nose at her even though she was the one actually looking down. "That doesn't make you completely better."

No, it didn't, she agreed silently, but she couldn't afford to take time off, not with how poorly her profit margin had been doing lately. Guilt-trip him, she decided, men usually backed down from that. "So I'm well enough for you to consider having sex with, but not to work?" she taunted. "Double standards, Jareth. If you really care about my health then you can't approve of whichever is most convenient; it's all or nothing."

He growled low in his throat, a sound that sent up warning signs for her to run and hide, but he released her wrist. "Why do you always have to fight me?"

Sarah tried to hide her grin at his purely male irritation. "It worked out rather well for me last time, feather-boy; why mess with a good thing?"

* * *

Byron grinned at the girl's cheekiness; she was certainly a spitfire. She'd mentioned Jareth having amnesia, did that mean she knew he was the Goblin King? It would make his work a lot easier if that were the case; it meant that she would see him in the event that Jareth couldn't. Perhaps she would even be sympathetic, and there was no quicker way to get things done than have active help from a human that the Goblin King was attached to. 

Quickly, quietly, Byron decided to followed her.

* * *

"No," Didymus refused for what felt like the thousandth time. "I agreed to help you with Jareth, no more. If something must be done about Lady Sarah, then it will not be by my hand." 

Hoggle stopped his irritated pacing. "Damn it, Didymus; your oath of duty is older and more important than your desire to protect Sarah! Or have you had a change of heart?"

"I will do what must be done to secure our goal, but I will not hurt her," the lanky knight replied calmly.

"Who said anything's going to hurt her?" the dwarf demanded.

Didymus shook his head sadly. "Destiny's wheels often turn in places that we can ill afford them. I don't think it's a coincidence that he's managed to find her again."

"You're a damned fool, Ciren Didymus," Hoggle said quietly. "A damned fool with romance on the brain."

His companion shrugged, but remained resolute.

"Fine," the shorter man snapped, relenting, "_I'll_ do it, just make sure you keep an eye on Jareth. We need as much space between them as possible." He scrubbed a hand over his tired face, "If the Wise Man is right, and Jareth's magic really is starting to break free, then we don't have much time to set things right."

You always where a troublemaker Jareth, Hoggle thought to himself as he left Didymus' room in search of his own, you never did learn how to stay away from the fire when it mattered most.

* * *

An hour later found Sarah sitting behind the familiar service counter of her store. She had showered at Jareth's and was currently wearing her day-old pants and one of his shirts, the sleeves rolled up several times so that she could find her hands. The soft linen was comfortable and well worn, but she felt a little ridiculous in what was obviously not her own clothing. Honestly, the man couldn't have driven her home to let her change? He had taken way too much joy out of lending her that shirt, and she still wasn't sure if it was because he was trying to stake some sort of visual claim or if he just really loved making her uncomfortable. 

They had visited her car, still on the side of the road and still refusing to work. Once she had gotten to a phone, Sarah had called a tow-truck and was currently waiting for news on the state of her vehicle. Jareth was already anticipating the worst, or just being bossy, because he had informed her that he would come around to drive her home that evening.

Business had been slow so far that morning, not a soul in the store. She was almost wishing she hadn't thrown Jareth out to do… whatever it was he did with his time. It was strange how his company was suddenly starting to seem normal; after all, she had only known him for a few days, had once feared him like nothing else (and on some levels, still did), and always seemed to have her back up around him. This was the same man who had once put her through hell, who had invited himself into her life, and stolen the key to her backdoor so that she would never be able to shut him out. On the other hand he was also the same man who had fueled her teenage fantasies, who had a latent ability to draw her to him; he was dead sexy and wickedly interesting, and Sarah was nothing, if not curious. It had always been her downfall, curiosity; she was Pandora in modern form. Things hadn't ended on the best note between them with the Labyrinth, and she couldn't help but wonder if a second chance wasn't really such a bad idea. She'd never been so curious about a man, and if circumstances had been different ten years ago she would have been sorely tempted by his offers.

So, he came on a little strong. So, his intentions weren't exactly noble. That didn't mean she couldn't enjoy his company, did it? And what sort of fool would she be to let the same intriguing opportunity slip by twice? Alright, so the circumstances were vastly different and she had the self-assigned mission of restoring his memory, but that didn't mean she couldn't make the best of things. Who was she to argue when life decided to hand her an ex-king who wrote erotica for a living?

* * *

Her car was dead. Deceased. Beyond repair. 

"Maybe you could hire yourself a voodoo priestess to resurrect it?" Elizabeth Carver tried to joke.

Sarah looked up at her friend. "Liz, I now own the world's largest paperweight. The engine seized, I don't even think voodoo could help this one."

She watched as Liz shuffled nervously, then leaned over the counter to stop her fidgeting. "It's not all bad, is it? I mean, you did want to get a new car, now you have the reason!" It was almost sad how the perky blond was trying to put a light spin on things.

"But I don't have the money," Sarah sighed, "not if I want to repair the roof on my house before the decade is out."

"You could always get yourself a boyfriend to take care of you," Liz skillfully changed the subject.

Sarah groaned. "Don't even joke, Carver. I apparently have a pseudo-boyfriend who I'm sure would be more than happy to take charge pf my personal affairs."

Liz brightened up and grinned impishly. "So things are progressing with the new neighbor, then?"

"Without my knowledge or consent," Sarah replied dryly. "Don't get me wrong, Lizzy; I_ am_ curious, but he moves fast and we have some… unresolved issues between us."

"You've known the guy for all of, what? Two, three days? And you _already_ have unresolved issues?" Liz asked incredulously. "Resolve them, Sarah. I don't know what it is or how you have to work through it, just get over these 'issues'. You won't stay young forever, you know, and I'm rather tired of seeing you alone."

Sarah let out a heavy sigh. "He has blatant commitment issues, honey; we're looking at a fling here, not undying love." And yet, she couldn't forget what the Goblin King had told her: _He will never let you go_. How was it that one half of the man made it clear that tomorrow was never a certainty, while the other half demanded no less than eternity. She wanted to see where life would take her, but it was hard to know how to act when she was afraid to engage her heart for fear of pain, and yet afraid to withhold it for fear of causing pain. "He's just looking for some rough and tumble."

"Don't knock it, girlie," Liz cautioned, "maybe that's all he wants right now, but you never know how that might change. Don't be shutting doors before you even know what could lay on the other side."

Sarah raised a brow. "You're suggesting I counter-seduce him?"

"I'm suggesting you get him addicted to you," the blond amended. "Spend some more time with him, and if you really like him then find a way to become his favorite drug; make it so that he can barely even breathe without you by his side. He might be a guy darling, but he'll figure out who he belongs to sooner or later." She interestedly eyed the masculine shirt that Sarah was wearing, then added, "Or vice-versa. Wearing his clothes already? Doesn't seem like there's anything pseudo about this relationship to me."

"There was an incident," Sarah began.

Liz cut her off, "I hope it involved some sweaty and naked limbs."

"I didn't," Sarah snapped defensively. "I needed a clean shirt to wear, and he's moronically territorial for someone who doesn't want to enter into a real relationship."

"So you admit that you spent the night, then?" Elizabeth wheedled.

"This conversation's done," Sarah stated decisively. "Yes, I spent the night; no, it's not what you think. You'll probably be the first to know if anything happens, Liz, but don't go making up stories where nothing happened."

"Worried about town gossip?" Liz waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Sarah snorted, and began to shoo her friend off. "I said this conversation is done. Now leave me to mourn the passing of my car in peace."

* * *

A/N: Alright, not astounding, but heading in the right direction. I apologize if the narration seems slightly off, I'm a few weeks out of practice. Liz Carver was in the first chapter, by the way, for those of you who don't remember. 

I return to you from the ether! I'm really sorry about my blatant disappearance over winter break, guys; between traveling halfway across the country and then back in only two weeks, the holidays, and getting ready for Spring Semester I neither had the time to write nor the motivation. That is a failing on my part and I apologize, but I'm back now! The next few updates might be a little rocky as well, since I haven't settled into my new schedule yet, but I promise that I will try my hardest to get things back on track as soon as I possibly can. To those of you who have emailed me: I'm still working through my backlog; feel free to contact me, I love hearing from people, but don't be surprised if you don't get an immediate response. To those who have emailed me about, or are waiting for, the sequel to Dramatic Orchestrations: Yes, I am working on it; no, I don't know when it will be posted. I have to find time, not only to write it, but also reread the original to refresh my memory and, at the moment, I'm just a bit overworked.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed thus far. I can't believe I have almost 300 reviews for only a dozen chapters!

Please Review!

Disclaimer: Byron, mine. Liz Carver, mine. Jareth, Sarah, Didymus, Hoggle, Ludo, and the Wise Man all belong to Jim Henson Productions. Rockport belongs to Maine, which I also do not own.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

What was it that sparked attraction, Jareth wondered as he leisurely made his way through Sarah's house. What was it that drew two people together? There was a strange magnetism that brought him and his green-eyed nymph together, and it wasn't solely physical, either. Oh sure, in large part his persistence was due to physical desire, he'd be the worst sort of liar if he tried to deny the fact that he wanted the woman wet and hungry in his bed, but there was something else that kept him turning in her direction, something he couldn't name. If physical appeal were his only standard then he could go to nearly any woman for a quick fuck, but he didn't want that. He wanted Sarah with an intensity that went beyond simply appreciating a pretty face. There was just something about her, something familiar, something that he wanted for his own.

It was that uncertainty, that curiosity and quest for an answer, that led him to do what he was currently doing. Namely, breaking the law, but he hadn't cared about that when he'd taken her key and he certainly didn't care about it now.

Sarah's home was cozy, though in obvious need of repair; the creaky floorboards were hidden by cheery rugs, the faded walls were covered with paintings and posters, but she couldn't hide the wooden cabinets that looked like they were about to fall out of their moorings or the fact that her ceiling leaked in certain places. She apparently didn't own any bookshelves either, because books were littered throughout the house, building up to critical proportions on coffee tables and desks. It was somewhat endearing and told him that his minx was possibly a bit of a scatterbrain, or perhaps lethally disorganized. It didn't tell him what it was about her that he found worth pursuing, though.

Jareth sighed, flopping down into one of her battered comfy chairs. It wasn't like him to question his own desires; when he wanted something, he went after it, minimal thinking involved. He didn't want to consider himself cold, but he had kept himself insulated by not analyzing his desires. Pleasures of the flesh were so much more pleasurable when there were no strings attached and, in his opinion, the more questions you asked, the more strings you knotted up. But he couldn't do that with Sarah, couldn't stop himself from thinking, from trying to figure things out.

Her home had, so far, held no more clues than he had expected it to.

A sharp edge dug into his side causing Jareth to fish about until he grabbed hold of the offending novel. He let out a snort when he saw what it was: _Twisted Tryst_ by J Corbett. Eyeing the coffee table revealed several more of his titles. Well, well, he thought with a smirk, it seemed his nymph was a closet fan. She read his work… his mind whirled away with that thought. Jareth considered himself sensual to the core, and his stories reflected that; perhaps it was time to use that to give Sarah another nudge in the right direction. Or send her on sensory overload, whatever got her whimpering first.

* * *

Byron was quiet and stealthy, analyzing the woman and considering his options. He hid in the dusty corners of the shop and tried to figure out what would be worse, if she could see him or if she couldn't. It was time to get closer, he decided, to get a good look at her before he made his decision.

Byron was sneaky and subtle. He was… enchanted by the multitude of glittering displays stretched out between him and the girl.

* * *

Sarah would freely admit that she was wallowing in the depths of a personal pity party, her car's untimely death becoming a serious finance issue for her, but she didn't miss the small clanking that sounded from one of her lower shelves. The glass shop was a quiet place, full of delicate merchandise, and, if nothing else, her time there had attuned her hearing into any noise caused by glass. Standing, she began to weave her way through the shelves, hoping nothing had been chipped or broken.

The clanking sounded again, and this time Sarah began to wonder what was causing it. It wasn't _entirely_ unusual for certain displays to shift in to neighboring pieces, but that typically ended with a single noise or created an immediate domino effect. This almost sounded like someone was tapping their fingernail against one of the more spindly creations.

Truthfully she hadn't really known what she was expecting to find when she discovered where the sound was coming from, perhaps a paperweight tipped over, but certainly not a goblin. It stood no taller than her index finger, its skin a milky sort of tan with straw colored hair and large pixie-like ears. Quietly, but with much enthusiasm, it seemed to be trying to get the image of a dragon, set beautifully within a dark green crystal, to wake up, tapping and tottering the glass while trying not to break it.

Sarah knelt down, trying to level herself with the tiny creature. "It's not real," she whispered to it. She hadn't seen a goblin in years, not since the Labyrinth; what was it doing here?

The little beast started, turning quickly to face her. For a long minute it studied her, then smiled widely. "Well, at least I know _you_ can see me," it (he, perhaps?) stated with a pleased expression. "So you will help, yes?" he nodded his head as he asked, as though positive behavior would generate a positive response.

"Help with what?" Sarah asked, cautious of getting too close to her small guest. She hadn't been around the goblins too much, but underneath their basely humorous behavior she had sensed a wicked and unsettling cunning. "Who are you?"

He bowed charmingly, offering a simple, "Byron. And you are?"

"Sarah," she replied, hoping no one came into the store to see her talking to what would probably look like thin air or, worse, a paperweight.

"_The_ Sarah?" Byron asked, eyes wide. The bright, blinking orbs took on a speculative gleam when she nodded her head. "That explains why you were nearly mating earlier," he muttered to himself.

Sarah's cheeks erupted in a blushing fire, but her tongue refused to demand where and why he had been watching her.

The goblin carried on, oblivious to her discomfort, "But this will make things so much easier; he'll listen to you more readily than me!"

Byron watched as the towering woman tried to make sense of him. She was bewitching, such a bright life surrounded by a sea of shining glass, but she was also confused and he had so little time to get affairs in order. "I'm here to reclaim Jareth as the Goblin King," he dove in, wanting to avoid any unnecessary questions.

She raised a dark eyebrow. "Then why don't you go talk to him?"

"Thanks to you, he's mortal now," Byron shook his head. "It's unlikely that he'll be able to see me anymore. But Sarah he can see, Sarah he can hear._You_ must convince him to return."

The woman furrowed her brows and seemed to fight an internal battle. "Why should I help you?"

He had dreaded this question. The goblins had stolen her brother and caused her all sorts of trouble; she had no reason or desire to trust him. "Anti-chaos," he replied.

Sarah stared at the diminutive creature. She was at war with herself; on one hand she was wary of the goblin, on the other hand she had a natural compulsion to help where she could. Wasn't she already helping anyway, by trying to get Jareth to remember the past? "Anti-chaos?" she questioned.

"The Labyrinth is ruled by disorder," he explained, "the natural state of things being chaos. But it takes the proper ruler to keep the Underground running; Jareth was very devious-minded himself, so the Labyrinth flourished." Byron sighed, "But he lost to you, which broke his contract as Goblin King. Since you didn't offer to take his place, the crown went back to the one Jareth originally struck the deal with." Here the goblin shuddered, his tiny voice ringing out strong and serious, "The Wise Man is many things, Sarah, but a good ruler is not one of them."

"The Wise Man?" she interrupted incredulously. "But he was just a tired and slow old man!"

"Perhaps on the outside," Byron stated, "but nothing is ever what it seems."

How strange, Sarah thought; she had often thought of the Wise Man as a doddering and genial sort of grandfather, but Byron was regarding him as the severest of plagues. "What makes him such a terrible king?"

"He has no regard for his kingdom," he lamented, "and very little care for those who inhabit it. He does not tend to the land and never troubles himself with anyone besides the wished away and the runners; even then, he only cares until the clock strikes thirteen. I know it's hard to imagine," his tone turned more wistful here, "but Jareth always made sure that his subjects were taken care of."

She nodded; it _was_ hard to imagine. Whenever she though back to that fateful meeting ten years ago, Jareth almost always came to her mind as a malevolent baby-snatcher. She hadn't wondered about who he was as a king because it hadn't mattered to her. Would he have found Toby a proper home, had she failed? It was an interesting thought. She was learning more about who he was, as a man, by the hour; could it be that there was more to who he was, as an immortal king, as well? Again, she was faced with the challenge of reconciling two halves of one man.

"The Labyrinth has fallen silent," Byron interrupted her inner musings, "fallen into hibernation, because the Wise Man chooses not to nourish its wilder side. Goblins fear his rule beyond anything else. I was not around during his first reign, but it was a time in which many vanished."

"Vanished?" Sarah asked. "Died, you mean?"

"In theory, yes," he nodded. "Goblins cannot die of sickness or old age, but lethargy can be deadly. Without chaos to fuel their natural energy they simply fade away."

It was interesting how Byron kept talking about goblins as though he wasn't one himself.

"So how am I supposed to help?" she questioned, resolved to lend her hand in this matter. She was already involved anyway, and knowing that there were lives at stake just made it more important.

Her tiny guest surged forward, grabbing hold of one of the fingers she had rested on the shelf. "You must convince him to come back," he pleaded, hugging her finger with spindly arms.

"I don't know how," Sarah admitted. "He doesn't remember _anything_, Byron, and every time I try to explain it to him he either thinks I'm crazy or making up stories."

He clutched her finger tighter, eyes wide and distressed. "_Nothing_," he choked to himself. "I had hoped it wouldn't be so bad. Jareth has always been stubborn once he gets set in his ways, and it will be doubly hard not knowing how to go about doing it, but you must make him remember." He nuzzled his face against her, an oddly needy gesture, even compared to his clutching. "We'll all be in trouble if you don't."

Something didn't add up here, she thought. Byron was not expressing the concern of an ex-subject at hearing some bad news; he was stricken and, quite possibly, afraid. Then again, faced with the unnatural death of his people, perhaps his reaction wasn't too unbelievable. Still, she thought, he seemed more upset for Jareth's sake than his own.

"I'll do what I can," Sarah soothed, unsure of how to comfort him, "but I really can't make any promises."

He put some distance between them, visibly pulled himself together, and nodded. "I will try to think of a way to help," Byron replied. "If you ever need my assistance, just call; you might not see me, but I'll never be too far away." And with that, the little goblin vanished.

* * *

Didymus sighed with a bone-deep weariness, torn between honor and duty. To do right by Sarah would be to forsake his oath concerning Jareth. And to forsake his oath concerning Jareth would be… fatal.

* * *

Sarah sat around that afternoon, thinking Byron's words over. All in all, they changed nothing. She was still trying to find a way to make Jareth remember their past, and still had no clue how to spark such memories. Perhaps she could ask the Goblin King, next time he graced her dreams; but there was no guarantee he _would_ come again.

It was early evening by the time Jareth showed up and, truth be told, she was glad to see him; not only for the fact that he had a car, but because life didn't seem quite so confusing when he was around. The problem of his amnesia lacked immediacy when she was being harassed by Rockport's newest resident.

Jareth had considered his options, now that he had an actual plan of seduction, and had decided to give her this night; he would do no more than take her home, rather than bring her back to his cabin like he so wanted to. Tonight he would give her time and space, but tomorrow… He grinned wickedly to himself. Tomorrow would be a test in just how relentless he could be.

* * *

A/N: I really didn't want to end it there, but my brain seems to be turning into jello at the moment.

This chapter is dedicated to BookWorm37. Happy (belated) birthday!

Please Review!

Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine! Except for Byron; he is mine, mine, mine!


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing!

Jareth had always had an opportunist's memory, retaining only the facts that could be of use to him later and forgetting everything else at his own convenience. But this was different, this was worse. And it hurt, Byron thought, to know that, even if he could appear in a human form, the blond egotist would not recognize him, would he?

Byron frowned in thought. _Would_ he? Admittedly, chances were low that he would be able to see a goblin, but a man he could definitely see. His lapse in memory was a magic induced amnesia, but magic could not erase what was truly there, only cover it up. Did it stand to reason then that, at least viscerally, Jareth would know who Byron was? He had found the girl, after all, and without even completely understanding why, was drawn to her.

Would Jareth recognize a projection of the mortal Byron had once been?

* * *

Hoggle walked, whether in a vein attempt to outdistance his problems, or merely ease his restless limbs, was entirely unclear. 

He hadn't had many friends in his long life, three or four in all, but Sarah was undoubtedly one of them, and so his conscience ate away at his resolve. He had to keep her away from Jareth, the Wise Man had been painfully clear about the terms of his bargain, but he didn't want to hurt the girl. Why was there never any middle ground, he wondered despondently, why wasn't there a way to make everyone happy?

He had cursed the Goblin King on more than one occasion, but these days he felt more inclined to curse the Wise Man. Why did such a simple goal have to be so hard to achieve, come with so many strings attached?

Sarah was a stubborn girl, he knew from experience, and if she had set her mind to something she wasn't likely to give up, no matter what he said. Perhaps it would be easier to get Jareth to leave, Hoggle mused. Of course, Sarah would wonder, perhaps even grieve for a little while, but Jareth's memory and magic would remain imprisoned then and, in the end, that's all that mattered.

* * *

The car ride to her home had been uneventful and, if Sarah were honest with herself, a little disappointing. Sure, Jareth had gone about with his customary flirting, but he hadn't tried to kiss her and had made absolutely no move to follow her into the house. Once inside, she had stood with her back pressed to the front door feeling… bereft. 

The man had complete control over her movements, now that she was dependant upon him for transportation, and he made no attempt whatsoever to take advantage of that fact. Sarah wasn't sure what bothered her more, the fact that he hadn't done anything or the fact that she almost _wanted_ him to take advantage. After all, what good was an incorrigible womanizer if he wasn't putting even the smallest effort into his seduction?

Somewhere along the line, Sarah thought with just the tiniest bit of distress, she had begun to enjoy the chase. The man was infuriating, and yet she couldn't help but take pleasure in his company. She didn't want to be left alone anyway, not with so many thoughts crashing around in her head. Byron's news had imparted her with an unwelcome sense of urgency; she wanted to forget about it all for the now, to be a hedonist, if only for the night, and live for pleasure rather than problem solving.

But the contrary man had left her alone!

Grumbling to herself about the quixotic behavior of the male species, Sarah made her way through the lifeless house. Normally, she would have been changing out of her work clothes but hadn't been wearing them in the first place, and, in any case, was feeling rather comfortable in Jareth's shirt. If she couldn't have the man, at least she could have his laundry.

* * *

Jareth was dead bored. Really, he had no one to blame but himself, seeing as he had decided to leave Sarah alone for the evening. He just hadn't counted on there being _nothing_ else to do. True enough, he could write, but… his room smelled of the woman. The bed covers that she had nestled in while fighting her brief fever still carried the subtle scent of gardenia and pine, and it drove him to absolute distraction. It was unfair that he could be so thoroughly teased when she wasn't even there! 

His own fault, though.

Still, he thought with a smile, there was one absolutely wonderful thing about such a distraction. With a practiced flop, Jareth settled onto the bed. Her scent was earthy and powerful, yet not even the slightest bit abrasive like the perfumes some city women wore (or possibly bathed in, he sometimes thought). It was a smell he would greatly enjoy memorizing. Fisting his hand in a velvety soft sheet, he brought it up to his face, enjoying the texture much the same way a cat would.

"Am I interrupting something?" a lovely voice asked, startling Jareth.

Sarah stood in his doorway, one hip leaning against the frame, looking halfway between horror and amusement. Unhurriedly, he dropped the blanket. "Why would you think that?"

She held up a hand in mock defense, "I would hate to break up the love between a man and his linens, so don't stop on my account."

Jareth snorted. "Illicit relations go well _on_ bed sheets, Sarah, not _with_ them." He watched as she hid her chuckle, emerald eyes sparkling in humor. She was still wearing his shirt, he realized, and had to admit he was more than just a little pleased with the sight. The fact that it wasn't buttoned all the way up was rather nice as well. "How did you get in?"

"Your door wasn't locked," she replied with a snide look, "which I think is remarkably careless of you, Mr. Corbett; anyone could waltz right in if they wanted to!"

"But think of how lonely I'd be if _you_ hadn't," he mock-pouted. In truth, he never locked his doors; it was a strange habit, and definitely something that had given his neighbors constant grief, but, for some reason, he had never felt the need. "Now, don't think I'm not pleased to see you," he began, casually leaning against the headboard, "but what are you doing here?"

Truthfully, she had been lonely and bored, unable to face the prospect of eating a small dinner in the silent house. Still, she wasn't about to tell Jareth all that, it would probably just go to his head. Instead, she opted for only part of the truth. "I was bored," came her mild reply.

He raised a hawkish eyebrow. "Bored enough to walk two miles in the cold and dark night, after just having recovered from a fever?" His tone was light, but his eyes had narrowed dangerously; though he seemed grateful for her company, he was obviously not pleased with her spontaneous decision.

But Sarah wasn't about to be cowed. "I'll make soup," she shrugged.

Jareth seemed taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"Dinner," she said clearly, as though he were simpleminded. "I'll make something hot to fight off a chill, okay?"

The woman didn't wait for his reply, just turned around and wandered down the stairs, presumably to find the kitchen. Jareth sat in the middle of his room, dumbfounded. Had he just been invited to dinner in his own home?

* * *

Byron concentrated. It was hard to take a human form; it took a lot of power to do and usually went wrong for the most inane reasons. Conditions had to be just right, or he could easily find himself the right shape but the wrong size, vice-versa, or a myriad of other mistakes. 

He didn't have enough strength to do it completely right on his own, but the night was foggy with a hint of thunder in the distance and Byron called upon that natural energy. Took the latent power that was soaking the air and channeled it into himself. Became a conductor for those wild elements and fed from them.

He grew, he changed, he felt the magic take root, he…

Was suddenly in a horrible amount of pain.

* * *

Thunder sizzled in the distance, carrying for miles around in the late autumn air, the lightning flashing cold and brilliant through the thickening fog. Hoggle hated nights like these, they reminded him too much of home. He was a tired old man, but he managed to coax his legs a little faster, hoping to make it back to the hotel before the storm broke. 

The night was dark, the lightening infrequent, but even so Hoggle still noticed the shadowy figure lying on the side of the road.

"Hey stranger," he asked, walking up to the prone body, "you alright?" He snorted to himself; of course the guy wasn't all right, otherwise he wouldn't have been lying in a ditch. Hoggle heaved a sigh; it was just one problem after another today. He couldn't, in good conscience, leave the comatose man to the tender mercies of a stormy night. Still, he found himself somewhat loath to get involved in somebody else's troubles; he had more than enough of his own.

A flash of lightning illuminated and reflected off of the fog, briefly making the night shine with a jewel bright intensity. Hoggle rubbed his eyes, unsure but fairly certain that he had caught sight of a shock of blond hair. As a matter of fact, the face that he may or may not have glimpsed had looked a damned sight like someone he knew all too well.

"Bunbury?" he breathed the question out on a quiet exhalation. But it couldn't be, Bunbury was…

* * *

Ambrosius was usually a quiet dog, much preferring to spend his life in as little excitement as possible, but something had the canny little beast in a tizzy. His shaggy paws beat wildly at the door to the hall and he let out one piercing bark after another. Didymus would have honestly thought the dog possessed if the door had not opened a few minutes later. 

Hoggle stood in the doorway, a limp body draped over his shoulders and trailing behind him like a macabre opera cloak. "Good heavens," Didymus exclaimed, shooting out of his chair, "what happened?"

"Hell if I know," his stout companion wheezed. "Now help me get him to the spare bed." They struggled together for a minute, before finally managing to lay the unconscious man out.

Blond hair, wet and matting, clung to a pale and angular face. The brow was sculpted, the nose held an aristocratic flare, and the cheekbones were high. He was probably just under six feet in height, with a lean and dreadfully familiar build.

"Lord Bunbury!" Didymus gasped, looking to Hoggle for reassurance. "But how?"

The older man shrugged. "I found him on the side of the road."

Didymus turned back to their unexpected guest just in time to see hazel eyes snap open.

Byron sat up, instantly regretting it because of the overwhelming dizziness that greeted the gesture. His eyes felt gritty in the burning light, and the rest of his body was one giant ache. "Where…?" he began to question, looking around, but caught sight of his hands. Human hands. Forgetting his wooziness, he shot out of bed and ran to the mirror on the other side of the room.

His eyes widened and a smirk broke out over his lips. Sixteen, maybe seventeen, tall but not gangly, lithe, and with a mischievous air about him, Byron looked exactly like the human he had once been. "I did it," he laughed triumphantly.

He turned around to find Didymus standing close by, a frown marring his gentle features. "Milord-" he began to question, but Byron cut him off.

"I did it!" he crowed, taking the taller man by the hands and sweeping him about the room exuberantly.

Hoggle shook his head, unable to comprehend what was going on. "Bunbury?" he called. When that failed to get the young man's attention he let out a loudly growled, "_Byron!_"

The bouncing teenager halted his erratic dance. "Yes?" he drawled, clearly irritated that his celebrations had been interrupted.

"What is going on?" Didymus asked in place of his irked companion.

Byron turned a brilliant smile on both of them. "I cast a human glamour," he said proudly.

Hoggle shook his head. "I found you passed-out on the side of the road; a glamour would have broken when you lost consciousness."

Hazel eyes narrowed in confusion. "What are you saying, gardener? You don't mean to suggest-" Byron broke off, eyes widening. "It's not possible," he began to argue.

Didymus sat down on one of the beds, running a hand over his face. The situation was too strange to ponder. No one had ever been turned _back_ from being a goblin before.

Had their dear Lord Bunbury done the improbable?

* * *

Sarah hummed, pausing once or twice to listen to the approaching storm, as she stirred the simmering broth. Jareth's kitchen hadn't had much in the way of actual food (either the man didn't eat, or he just hadn't gotten around to grocery shopping yet) so she had decided to make Stone Soup. It was easy to make, in any case, all you had to do was grab a handful of whatever was available and throw it into some chicken broth. Carrots and potatoes seemed to be the main components of tonight's meal, though, luckily, she had found a loaf of French bread hiding behind an entire row of teacups; it was a bit dried out, but it would go well with a little butter. Tonight's was a meal of simplicity. 

Putting the lid back on the heating pot, Sarah leaned against the counter, just in time to see Jareth walk down the stairs. He had changed clothes, she realized; gone from a heavy sweater to one of his linen shirts, sleeves rolled up to the elbows like usual. It was strange not seeing him in knee-high boots, but the black jeans he favored did something wonderful for him; they were tight enough to be teasing, but not so tight that they left nothing to the imagination. Granted, his breeches had always been interesting and sinful creations, but rather blunt; there was something infinitely more tempting about not being given the full picture.

His strides were even and cat-like, his uneven eyes further lending to his nearly bestial air. It was times like this, Sarah decided, that he seemed less like a writer and more like a Goblin King. With her hips already pressed to the counter, she had nowhere to go when he drew impossibly close to her. His hand shot out and, with a lighting quick movement, he undid two of her shirt buttons, nearly revealing the lacy partition between the cups of her bra.

"Hey!" she sputtered, red-faced but unable to deny that she had brought this upon herself by choosing to come here.

Jareth caught her hands before she could redo the buttons. "You are wearing my shirt, are you not?"

Sarah nodded confusedly, pinching Jareth's palms until he let her go.

"I'm afraid it's not used to being buttoned up so high," he said, turning around to sit at the small table. "You wouldn't want to make the poor thing uncomfortable, would you?"

"You just want to ogle my breast while we're eating," Sarah shot over her shoulder as she checked on the soup.

"And such lovely breasts they are, too. You really ought to let your shirt gape more often; I'll bet you anything those poor dears are starved for attention," he replied smoothly.

She let out a huff. "What is it with you and personifying inanimate objects? Your shirt wants to be open, my breasts want to be groped-"

"Now you're putting words in my mouth," he observed, "I said nothing about groping. A Freudian slip, perhaps?" Here his tone turned teasing, "I'd be more than happy to lend a pair of attentive hands if you're feeling a bit neglected."

Sarah couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the conversation and, when she turned around with two bowls of soup to set on the table, she knew her eyes were shining with humor. "This is not proper dinner conversation," she told the smirking blond, "pick a different topic."

Jareth took on a musing expression as he idly twirled a spoon between his fingers. "We could always talk about how your pants are feeling, to round things out."

"Just eat your soup," she told him flatly, fighting a smile.

It was true to be careful what you wished for, Sarah thought with a little snort. Just a few hours ago she had been lamenting the fact that Jareth hadn't made a pass at her; now, she was almost afraid of what he would try when she no longer had the excuse of dinner to hide behind.

Almost, but not entirely.

* * *

A/N: For those of you who have any idea what Bunburying is, don't ready into my use of it too much, I just liked the name. The first part of this chapter was written in a café… I don't usually write in public. Nor have I ever been so caffeinated in my life as I have been this last month. 

I have updated the links in my profile, so take a look at those if you're interested.

Please Review!

Disclaimer: Rockport belongs to Maine, Labyrinth characters belong to Henson Productions, and the name Bunbury was totally stolen from Oscar Wilde.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Dinner had passed quietly, the dishes had been cleaned, and Jareth was ready to play dirty. All through the meal he had been granted tantalizing glimpses of the creamy flesh usually hidden beneath high-collared clothing. The undoing of two simple buttons had granted him both heaven and hell; as Sarah had moved and shifted over the meal, so had her shirt, granting him brief flashes of pure sin. She wore a black lacy bra, and the more he'd seen of it, the more he'd wanted to see her without it. It had been unbearably teasing, but he knew that the timing had been wrong; with a plan for seduction finally in mind, he wasn't about to deviate from it. So he had waited, put a leash on his desires, played the light and joking dinner companion when all he'd really wanted to do was get the damn table out from between them and see how loudly he could make her moan.

But dinner was over; now it was time to play.

Sarah sat in the cozy living room, nervous. She knew what was coming- the air had fairly crackled with sexual tension the moment she had entered the small cabin- she just didn't know _how_ it was going to happen. Jareth wasn't particularly the subtle sort but he did have an undeniably seductive edge. Would he be demanding, or would he try to woo her? And how would she respond to it? Come to vibrant, flaming life in his arms as she had that morning, or find herself longing for eyes that were similar, yet somehow different? She wanted this man, who oozed sex appeal and confidence, had wanted him since he had started trying to become physically intimate with her. But there was also another she wanted, the same man and yet not. The Goblin King loomed in her mind, close to the surface, and she couldn't help but wonder how that would affect whatever would transpire this night.

She shot an edgy glance at the door to the kitchen, wondering how long it honestly took a man to dry his dishes. Committed to the fact that _something_ was going to happen tonight, Sarah found herself too impatient to sit around and wait. Waiting induced thinking, and she had too much on her mind for that. Right now, she just wanted to feel, to receive blissful affirmation that she wasn't alone, and she would worry about all Labyrinth related problems tomorrow. She had granted herself a night of hedonism, had willingly entered the crocodile's pond, and was bound and determined to enjoy her night of non-mystic trouble to the fullest extent possible.

Now if only Jareth would get his ass out of the kitchen before she lost her nerve.

* * *

Byron stared at the back of Hoggle's head, tempted to make faces while the old man wasn't looking. It was patently immature, but he was frustrated with the two men he had once considered mentors. They had done little but berate his actions and warn him to stay away from the ex-Goblin King.

"You know what your problem is?" Hoggle was muttering angrily. "You're too much like Jareth; always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

Byron shot to his feet, fury overriding the disorientation cause by suddenly being human-size rather than goblin-sized. "He is more my business than he is yours, gardener," he said lowly, contempt lacing his words.

Hoggle eyed him warily for a moment. "This was hard enough when we thought we only had Sarah to deal with," he sighed. "We don't need you getting in the way too."

"Yes, your secret plot with the Wise Man," Byron sneered. "And what nefarious bargain have you struck with that old wretch?"

Didymus kept silent, but turned his eyes to Hoggle, who had averted his own to the floor.

Byron's shoulders wilted. "Do you really hate Jareth so much?"

* * *

He hadn't stalked her across the room, hadn't shown off how wonderful those taut leg muscles could look when in use. Jareth had simply come out of the kitchen, small notebook in hand, sat down on the loveseat and motioned her over. Sarah had walked right into that trap, because the second she had gotten close enough, one of Jareth's pale hands had fastened about her wrist and yanked her down on top of him. She was almost relieved, really; now, sitting in his lap, back to front, one of his steel-strength arms banding her waist, and his head resting over one of her shoulders, she didn't have to think any more. The ball was in his court, and it was liberating to let go of her previous nervousness.

"I had a thought, little nymph," he whispered, warm breath caressing her ear, making her shiver. "You helped me relieve some of my writer's block earlier, perhaps you could do it again."

She nodded, curious to see what he had in mind. He was wrapped around her, and yet spoke of writing. Then again, she thought while wiggling a bit on his lap, his brand of writing wasn't exactly out of place in this situation.

"Good girl," Jareth crooned, though it was unclear whether he was praising her acquiescence or her wiggling. "I have two characters: Vivian, a mortal woman, and Darrow, the," he paused, as if savoring the irony, "Goblin King." One elegant hand ghosted through her hair and briefly caressed the base of her skull. "But how should these two come together?" he mused theatrically. "Raw and elemental," his arm tightened around her waist while his free hand gripped the back of her neck in a possessive hold, "or sweet and tender?" his arms relaxed to a gentle, caressing weight.

Sarah swallowed hard, suddenly unsure of who she was dealing with. Was this the writer that hid under his mocking façade, or was this the king that haunted her dreams? "Well," she licked her lips, wishing she could face him, "she'd be a little scared of him, I think, of his intentions and his intensity."

He hummed thoughtfully, the sound rumbling out of his chest and through her back. "And why is that?" the question was calm, but he was getting dangerously close to her ear, and she could almost feel the gentle brush of wicked teeth against her sensitive skin with every word he spoke.

"He's not human," Sarah countered too quickly, "so Vivian can't be entirely sure of his motivations. Does he love her, or does he just want to control her?" It was disconcerting to have Jareth at her back, speaking words that had plagued her thoughts for a decade. _Does he love her, or does he just want to control her?_

"Does it matter yet?" Jareth replied, teeth briefly tugging on her hoop earring. "Does love have to be present before sex?"

She squirmed, hands leaving her sides to grip his arm while she thought it over. "The fear doesn't go away," Sarah said, eyes going distant as her mind traveled back to her own experience with the Goblin King. Her hands tightened on him, pulling him closer despite her words. "How can she physically submit to someone she doesn't trust?"

"Passion," was the immediate answer. He nipped at her neck, then ran his tongue over the spot to soothe it. "It's the Goblin King's duty to kindle enough passion within her that she is willing to submit, regardless of her worries." Jareth nuzzled the side of her throat, his free hand gently brushing her cheek. "Fear is always a part of sex, even in the most connected of couples," he elaborated. "There are a myriad of worries that can plague you. Will your partner be too intense?" The hand at her waist began to work its way under her shirt. "Will he satisfy?" His other hand began to play with the button between her breasts. "Will you satisfy?" The button came undone and his hand delved within the folds of the fabric. "Will your tastes and preferences mesh with those of your partner?" One hand was stroking the skin just above the line of her pants, while the other was lightly teasing the underside of one lace-covered breast. "It's not something that can be escaped," he growled, "merely overcome, if only temporarily."

"And the Goblin King," Sarah asked breathlessly, "what of him? How does he feel?" She threw an arm behind her, resting the crook of her elbow against his neck, effectively keeping his head pressed to her shoulder.

He didn't answer for a long moment, content merely to toy with a cloth-covered nipple. When he did answer, his voice was both thoughtful and husky. "Out of control and… perhaps a bit afraid as well." The hand at her waist slipped into her pants, clever fingers lightly exploring the contours of her body. "He has a delicate and delicious feast spread out before him, but is he allowed to have her? Here he is, teetering on the very edge of his own willpower, but he won't force her. What would it do to him if she were to say no?"

Sarah flinched and tried not to think about the past any more.

"That, minx, is real fear; to want something beyond all reason, be within one sweet breath of tasting it, and still not know if you can truly have it," he murmured into her ear. One devilish finger began to coax her feminine heat, the act made somehow more erotic by the fact that there was still one silky barrier of cloth preventing him from making physical contact. "So he becomes animalistic in his pursuit, fear goading him into seductive action while hormones slowly overrule the more complex thoughts coming from his brain." Jareth bit her neck again, not hard enough to hurt, but definitely harder than before. "He becomes bestial, primal, uncertainty making him aggressive, while the drive to mate, to sink into warm receptive flesh, overrides all higher consciousness."

He was all around her, everywhere but in her- stroking, petting, _teasing_- and it was driving her mad. A fire had kindled, low in her belly, begging for his touch to intensify, for him to stop making unspoken promises and actually deliver some pleasure. They had long ceased to talk about the actual characters, and they both knew it. So the questions were, did love matter in the picture that they were painting and was she ready to let her control slip? Sarah felt his hair brush against her face, smelled the exquisite spiciness of his scent, and felt the rigid maleness of him beneath her; coupled with the heat slowly pooling between her legs and her suddenly hypersensitive skin, she found she didn't particularly care. Perhaps things wouldn't look so well in the morning to come, maybe she would berate herself for the decision that she had made, but she was ready to experience some of the sin that he freely offered.

* * *

"It's not about hate," Hoggle murmured, eyes cast to the floor, "it's about what's best for everyone involved."

Byron stopped his pacing and glared at the old man. "I assume you haven't included goblins in that count," he glared, "because they're dying under the_ loving care_ of the Wise Man."

Didymus flinched. "It was a chance we were willing to take."

"For what?" Byron roared. "What is this plan of yours? Because of you two, the Labyrinth suffers and I begin to think that you mean to do Jareth some serious harm."

Hoggle picked up one of the jagged crystals that littered the room. "That depends on what you consider harm."

* * *

She didn't really remember leaving the living room, stumbling up the stairs, or making it to a bedroom; Sarah merely became aware of the change in scenery when her back hit a soft mattress and she found herself underneath Jareth. He had popped the last few buttons of her shirt somewhere along the way, for it now hung loosely at her sides, framing the curves of her breasts.

Jareth ran a teasing finger along the lacy edging of her bra. "I've had enough of this wicked thing," he growled, a hand quickly undoing the clasp and pulling the garment free of her, "teasing me all throughout dinner." He cupped a breast appreciatively, lips clamping around a puckered nipple.

Sarah let out a sharp gasp, back arching to thrust more sensitive flesh into his devilish mouth. One hand threaded through his hair, caressing his scalp and making sure he couldn't pull away. When he switched his attention to the opposite breast, she let out a whimper. It had been too long since she'd last had sex, and he was simply too… decadent, like a box of cherry cordials after a prolonged diet. She felt overheated and restless, her hips desperately wanting something to grind against; a fire was building in her that she frantically wanted him to put out.

Jareth lightly trailed his hands down her uncovered belly, coming to a stop at the clasp of her jeans. He would have loved to take his time exploring her, but she was just so damn responsive! His lightest touch drew mewls and whimpers out of her, and it had snapped his already fraying control. They could take it slow some other time, he decided as he undid the clasp and zipper, quickly stripping her of her jeans and panties.

She laid before him in her unclothed glory, breasts moving serenely as she panted lightly, and for a moment he forgot his urgency. He had seen a fair number of naked women, of varying ages and body types, but Sarah would be burned within his memory forever. Her long hair spread around her in dark tendrils and her pale skin stood out starkly against his dark bed sheets. As he stared at the flush spreading through her light freckles, at the shapely legs unabashedly spread open for him, he feared that he would be willing to do a lot to keep her in his bed.

Delicate hands gripped his clothing, taking care not to damage anything, but eager to have him rid of it. Sarah's impatient look and dexterous hands brought him back to the present and in no time at all he was free of restriction. She didn't take her time to admire him, seeming to have been pushed passed all reason, driven to consummate.

Gently, he drew one of her legs over his shoulder and swiftly thrust into her. Her sheath clamped around him tightly, forcing a groan from his lips. A light sweat broke out over him as he began to establish a rhythm, pushing and pulling, encouraged by her moans and roaming mouth. Her teeth closed on his neck, her jaw flexing each time he ground against her, and he was hit with a sense of intense triumph, as though he had been coveting this woman for far longer than a handful of days. Something in him wanted to roar in a satisfaction that wasn't entirely about sex.

Pleasure hummed through him, her demanding thrusts the greatest of aphrodisiacs, but something else skittered along his nerves as well. Something nameless, powerful, and just out of reach.

Sarah slammed against him roughly and clenched her inner muscles, driving all other thoughts from his mind. Her arms wound around him and she released her teeth from his flesh, moving to catch his own mouth in a brutal kiss. Jareth increased his pace and brought a hand down to caress her womanhood as her tongue dueled against his. She was close, if her quivering muscles and frantic actions were any indication. He stroked her harder and she came undone, mouth ripping away from his own as she voiced her pleasure. He wanted to outlast her climax, perhaps bring her to another one, but moving through her shuddering channel proved to be too much.

As he released into her, flooding her with his seed, the vague hum that had been dancing around his nerves erupted. Images flashed through his mind, things he didn't fully understand. A twisting maze and a sense of sadistic pleasure, strange little creatures scurrying to do his bidding, crying children, and Sarah standing before him, a panicked teenager.

His pleasure ebbed, and with it the images ebbed too. Green eyes stared up at him, sexy and sleepy. Jareth rolled to the side and pulled his minx closer, arms trapping her against him as he drifted off into a strange sleep.

Sarah breathed deeply, taking comfort in the gentle rhythm of the chest she was resting on. Her body was sated, content to rest, but her mind was buzzing. For a moment there, as he'd loomed above her, face twisted in bestial triumph and body driving into her own, he'd scared her. Not what he'd done, she'd been a more than willing participant in their bed play, but for a second he'd been _Jareth_. The powerful and domineering Goblin King had risen above her, taking release from her body. His eyes had been distant, turned inward, but the blue depths had been ageless and there had been no mistaking the dangerous aura that had briefly enveloped his being.

She's wanted it, wanted to ride that power and coax it out of the human prison it was trapped in, but at the same time it had been awfully intense. To court that sort of strength had been exciting, but it also had the potential to go horribly wrong. The Goblin King hadn't stuck around long though, because the tender arms that had pulled her close had most certainly been those of her playful writer. What would happen the next time the ethereal king chose to make his appearance? It was a thought that bothered her because, as much as she had pledged herself to bringing all of his memories back, the fact remained that she wasn't sure how a restored Jareth would react to her.

* * *

Bryon stormed out of the hotel, deaf to the protests of his 'companions'. They wouldn't even tell him what their damned plan was, and he honestly didn't have the time to coax it out of them. The more time wasted Above, the fewer goblins remained Underground. Perhaps he was human now, perhaps he wasn't, but he still could not sit by with such dire circumstances hanging above his head.

He needed to find Jareth.

* * *

He didn't have long in the body, by his estimate, but it was better than before when he had merely been a walled-off consciousness.

The Goblin King stretched leisurely, enamored by the warm body on top of him. Sarah was peaceful in her sleep, snuggled up to his chest like a cat. He ran languid fingers through her hair, savoring the texture and not knowing when he might get to feel it again. It was shame that he hadn't been able to take control during sex, to have been able to revel in her body's soft submission; he'd obsessed after this girl for longer than he'd care to admit, but he couldn't have her just yet. When the body had climaxed he had been able to slip to the front of his consciousness and for one glorious moment he had felt himself draining into her. It wasn't enough though, not nearly enough.

Sarah shivered and he brought a hand down to stroke her naked back. The day would come when he would no longer be just a trapped fragment. He could content himself until then, enjoy the limited freedoms her presence seemed to grant him.

He knew she had recognized him for the second he'd been in control, seen the excited panic in her eyes. She knew what she was doing, slowly drawing out the wildness that had been sealed off, and for that he would thank her for the rest of her life. But he also knew he had to send her a warning, a clear message of what she was releasing. He was the very same hellion that had once pursued her through his twisted Labyrinth; did she realize that he would never let her go?

The Goblin King continued to stroke her back, glorying in the silky feel of her skin. With his other hand he made a vague gesture, pulling a fragile crystal out of thin air. "I've brought you a gift, Sarah. Ponder it carefully," he whispered smoothly into her sleeping ear.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay; this chapter gave me technical and stylistic problems that I don't think I've ever had to face. This was my first time writing an actual sex scene, so I would _really_ appreciate your feedback on it.

As we creep further along in Bodice Ripper, inevitably heading toward an end, my mind turns to something many of you keep asking about. I still don't know when the sequel to Dramatic Orchestrations will be started, but I have a few questions for those you who are waiting. I've created a couple of polls, which I'll be alternating between in my profile, so please cast your votes; the results could have a large impact on what I end up writing!

This chapter is dedicated to FaeriesMidwife (whose offhand comment about this story currently being one of her favorites made me get off my ass and actually update), Nopa LaMais (who needs a little cheering up, in my humble opinion) and the rest of my Harem sisters. You guys rock!

Please Review!

Disclaimer: Anything recognizable as having come from the movie Labyrinth is not mine. I barely even own the plot.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Byron typically considered himself a rather intelligent creature, took a certain amount of arrogant pride in his cleverness, but he was also hotheaded and impulsive, and it was that darker side that had taken over.

He cursed at himself again. True enough, getting away from Hoggle and Didymus would have been inevitable since their goals did not mesh, but racing off to Jareth was foolish. An automatic response, but foolish. What was the point in running off to the man when he was the very problem?

Byron meandered down the night-darkened road, wanting nothing more than to go home. Stupid really, his home had fallen to dust ages ago; there probably wasn't even the slightest indication that anyone had ever called those lush acres their own. He had never really felt at ease with the Underground, but if he was truly human again it meant he couldn't return there, either. In other words, he had nowhere to go; no home and no people. His shoulders wilted a little at that thought.

"No," the teen said, trying to brighten himself up, "I have a mission to complete, regardless of anything else that happens." Going to Jareth now would undoubtedly ease the burning curiosity as to whether the man would recognize him or not, but he'd already been impulsive enough for one night. So what to do?

Jareth's voice came up from his memories, whispered advice in the middle of a silly game. _"If you ever get stuck, regroup and re-plan."_

"Yes," Byron mused quietly, hazel eyes going distant. He would talk to The Sarah, they could share information, hers about the ex-Goblin King and his about the dangers that he was beginning to feel they were facing, and together they could come up with a plan of action.

* * *

She was warm, comfortable, content; drowsing lazily, like a cat sleeping on a bundle of dryer-warmed towels. But the sun was shining in her face and Sarah knew that, sooner or later, she would have to get up and make sense of what had happened the night before. The memory of it pulsed in her mind, much the same way desire throbbed in her veins. Sex had never been like that before, wild, urgent, nearly feral, and yet somehow… decadent. Her past experiences with the pleasures of the flesh had always been sweet, scheduled, and completely unsatisfying. Mechanical ruts with men who had only a basic understanding of female pleasure, and not much desire to learn any more. Last night had been different, fulfilling on a level she couldn't even begin to understand.

A hand idly stroked through her hair and down her naked back. Jareth was awake, probably knew she was too, which meant she would have to face him in the bitterly short minutes to come. She didn't want to, though.

And that was the problem, really, because as much as she had enjoyed last night, even looked forward to repeat performances, Sarah had no idea where the two of them stood, exactly. Sexual relations didn't mean emotional ties to him, he had made that painfully clear, but it was hard not to become emotional when so much was weighing her down. She was starting to like the man, damn it, and as more than just a neighbor or a good nocturnal romp. More than a childhood crush, even. Her heart was becoming engaged, just as she had suspected it would after sex with him, and for the first time in her life Sarah was beginning to understand how the Goblin King must have felt as she ran through his Labyrinth: scared, trapped, but jadedly hopeful despite what common sense dictated.

Her insides churned as his fingers traced delicate patterns over her back and sides; it was such a tender gesture, and left her feeling like she wanted to ask for more from this man than he had already stated he was willing to give. One step at a time, she chided herself, it was no good getting worked up into a frenzy of nerves; she had to face him eventually, it might has well be now.

Slowly Sarah opened her eyes, squinting in the light that spilled around her, and took stock of the situation. She was face-down, on her belly, snuggled into Jareth's side, and using his chest as a pillow. Jareth was, more or less, doing his very best to surround her, a thigh was pressed between her own, entangling their legs, and one arm curled securely around her side, lazily drifting through her hair and trailing unseen patterns down her back.

Intimate, tender, not entirely what she had expected in the morning after with a self-proclaimed womanizer.

Sharp blue eyes stared down at her, quiet and unreadable. She had been hoping for some sort of sign to go on, a stiffening to pull away or tightening of his arm to pull her closer, any sort of indication about how he wanted them to continue. But whatever was on his mind he didn't share, his only movements being the continued caresses along her back. Should she take that as a good sign, she wondered; after all, if he was no longer interested in her then it wasn't likely that he would waste any time in getting her out of his bed. There was no point in acting like a contented cat, more than happy to just soak up the sun and curl up next to a warm body, if he no longer cared. Right?

She bit her lip in nervous thought.

Jareth, for his part, really _was_ content to act like a lazy housecat. There had never really been 'morning's after' in his experience, perhaps a few quick words about another rendezvous or some hurried rearranging of clothes, but never this warm luxuriating. Then again, he had never wanted it in the past, lingering around after the actual sex usually led to some sort of emotional connection, something he had tried very hard to avoid.

But it was different with Sarah; he had been right when he'd thought that the more time he spent around her, the more he would want to keep her. Seeing her like this, curled naked and trusting into his side, with the memory of what they had done the night before racing through his mind, Jareth had the sneaking suspicion that his stay in Maine wasn't going to be nearly long enough.

That thought scared the hell out of.

Sarah met his gaze, wondering what it was that she saw flickering through their depths. There was only one way to find out, she decided; they had stayed silent for long enough.

Perhaps it was the sudden intake of air, or the intent that must have shown in her eyes that alerted him to the impending conversation; she wasn't sure. All she knew was that she opened her mouth to start babbling through some sort of dialogue, and never got a chance to actually start.

Jareth's lips crashed down on hers, hungry, bruising, and possessive. He stole the breath out of her lungs, made her head spin. "No words," he murmured, cruelly taking his lips from her own, "not yet."

And there was the truth of it: neither of them really knew what to expect now. The basis of their relationship had, thus far, been based on the seduction. But once the seduction had succeeded? Talking about it was the only way they would figure something out and, right now, neither of them had anything thought out to say.

Jareth leaned back with a sigh, feeling torn in half. Part of him simply wanted to stay in bed with her until they both fell to dust, and another part of him wanted to turn tail and run back to Boston as fast as he could. The fact that something in him snarled angrily at the thought of leaving told him plainly enough that he was getting in too deep. _But was too deep really so bad?_ A seductive inner voice whispered to him; they worked together quite well, in a teasing-nagging old-couple kind of way, and the sex had been… well, strange, quite frankly, but mind-blowing. Besides, he didn't want to hurt his nymph's feelings by simply disappearing, as he had with so many other women.

The morning after had a nice glow about it, he thought idly, but its comfort was decidedly dangerous.

"We'll talk, Sarah, I promise," he said, running a hand through her hair and loving the silky feel of it. A few fingers ghosted over the back of her neck, causing a shiver to ripple through her. It was as he caught himself admiring the wonderful things that shiver had done to her breasts that he decided it would be better for them to talk sooner rather than later. Any more time snuggled together like puppies would either lead to more sinful entertainment or promises that had been wrung out in the heat of the moment. He needed a little time to think.

Gently, Jareth shifted Sarah off of him, missing her warmth as soon as it was gone. "Why don't you take a shower while I go make breakfast," he suggested, not able to fool himself that, though he wanted time to think, he didn't actually want her gone. "We'll talk after that."

Sarah watched him as he slowly began to slink out of bed, trying to hide a smile at his contradictory actions. He was trying to put a little space between them, but he was getting out of bed with all the speed and zest of a snail. Eventually he managed to convince himself to leave the warm sheets and grab a pair of pants on his way out the door, his cute ass disappearing into a pair of jeans as he walked down the hall. It didn't really cross her mind to worry about what sort of decisions he would make while alone; it was clear that he was just as confused right now as she was, which meant they were on even ground. Even ground meant that they would probably just argue like they usually did, which was something of a relief.

It was only after he descended the stairs, completely out of her sight, that she noticed the crystal.

* * *

Byron sat outside The Sarah's house, idly drumming his fingers against the sore muscles in his legs. He knew where The Sarah was and, seeing how long she had been gone, he knew what she was doing, too. It was hard not to go straight to her, they had so much to talk about, but he tramped down the urge, knowing that Jareth would be with her. He still wasn't sure what effect he would have on Jareth, so he kept himself patiently waiting on The Sarah's front porch, knowing that it would be best to keep himself unknown to the other man until there was some sort of a plan. Already, he had waited through the night with the patience of a saint.

But Bryon was no saint.

He began to pace agitatedly.

* * *

It was fragile and thin, two things Sarah knew Jareth's crystals had never been before. All the same, the fact that it was there _meant_ something, just as the two flowers frozen inside did. Sarah's fingers ran over the smooth, cool surface of the crystal, handling it with the same care that she would give to any of her shop's pieces. The crystal itself was easy enough, it meant that she had been right about the Goblin King breaking through. But the flowers…

Nasturtium and Monkshood. The wide petals of the Nasturtium flowed over each other like ruby water, trailing down to a golden throat. An extravagant flower. Conversely, the Monkshood was a flower of simplicity: a deep violet in color, with petals that truly formed into little 'hoods'. But what did they mean? Some sort of token of regard, or was there something more to this?

A niggling started at the back of her mind, slowly working its way to the front of her thoughts. She had learned this once, through a story. These sorts of things weren't meant for pretty decoration. This was flower language. Flowers _meant_ things; as roses were for passion, daisies were for innocence. So what were the Nasturtium and Monkshood supposed to be telling her? Monkshood was easy enough; it was a flower of caution, meant to alert someone to a dangerous foe.

But the Nasturtium… she had barely recognized the flower enough to identify it, so she wasn't entirely sure what it meant. Something to look up later, she mused.

Getting out of bed wasn't exactly what she wanted to do right now. The sheets were warm and held the comforting scent of man, something that had been painfully absent from her life. Still, a nice hot shower wasn't entirely unwelcome. Her body moved on autopilot, digging out some clean clothes to wear, navigating to the bathroom, setting the water temperature to just right; the fact that it wasn't her house seemed to be largely immaterial. Stepping under the warm spray of the shower didn't call her thoughts back from where they had wandered any more than her own shower did when she was deep in thought at home.

_Beware_, the Monkshood seemed to tease her. Beware of what; or rather, who? Was the Goblin King warning her of himself, or some other potential enemy? Didymus, perhaps? No, Sarah thought as the warm water loosened the tense muscles of her shoulders, that seemed too abstract. If there was one thing she had known with absolute certainty while traipsing through the Labyrinth, it was that the Goblin King was a narcissist at heart; it only took a quick glance at the way he dressed himself, a brief acknowledgment of the many different changes he made each time he had appeared, to come to that conclusion. Would a narcissist be able to send any sort of message that did not, in some way, pertain to himself?

The answer was, quite simply, no.

So the Goblin King meant to warn her about who was laying in wait inside her teasing writer. She already knew that something not altogether human lurked beneath the surface of Jareth's mocking civility, so the true message that He-of-the-indecently-tight-pants was trying to send must lay with the Nasturtium.

* * *

Jareth loomed over the toaster, finally admitting to himself how much he loathed the little device. You set the dial to 3, and the toast came out a 5, burnt to a cinder; set it to 2, and the toast came out a 1, warm but not toasted. Nasty little creature, the toaster was. He had been able to manage it just fine last week, but ever since coming to Maine the devious machine somehow eluded his basic comprehension. It had been that way with a lot of things, lately; as a matter of fact, the only machine that hadn't somehow betrayed him was his laptop, and he had a feeling that had more to do with his own stubborn nature than any attempts on the computer's part to cease functioning. Next thing you knew, he thought to himself, the shower would suddenly become incomprehensible.

The shower…

His thoughts flew back to Sarah. Simple as that: think of where the woman was, and suddenly his mind was filled with visions of dark hair while a fierce longing raced through his veins.

She was in the shower right now, warm water sliding over the lush curves of her body. Slippery, wet, naked.

His body responded much more eagerly than he felt it had a right to, considering he was trying to sort his life out at the moment. He didn't need temptation swaying the decisions that would have to be made. But still…

The air beside him felt empty and cold. The kitchen was dead and lifeless. The warm bed seemed like a distant memory.

Apparently, life without Sarah was rather dull.

* * *

She was washing the shampoo out of her hair when the thought surfaced from nowhere.

Nasturtium was the flower of conquest.

By itself, the idea was abstract at best, but together with the other flower, Monkshood followed by Nasturtium, the message was clear.

Beware of conquest.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for my protracted silence, it's just been one thing after another for the past few weeks. In other news, a new poll is up in my profile. Please go vote!

The toaster dial comment is actually from Eddie Izzard (either the tour of Glorious or Definite Article); although not an exact quote, I figured credit where credit was due.

Please Review!

Disclaimer: At the end of every chapter I'm hit by a vague sense of accomplishment, but the fact remains that the only thing truly mine are the words. And Byron.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Being an animal had always given Ludo an advantage, in his own opinion. For one, you were never bothered by moral dilemmas; you simply did as instinct dictated. For another, your senses were greatly enhanced; the world flowed around you in ways that it didn't, _couldn't_, for humans, giving rise to a sixth sense. Being a cat again gave him something that he had sorely missed: a calculating intelligence, the natural wisdom of a predator.

Ludo hid in the shadows of the kitchen, watching his human with sharp eyes. The air was charged with something oppressive, the way it often felt before a violent storm. His claws slid out of their sheaths slightly, hooking and kneading the towel that he had dragged into the shadows with him. Something _wrong_ was about to happen to his human, and he was determined not to let whatever it was win.

* * *

Sarah came into the kitchen and Jareth nearly choked on the coffee he had been drinking. Her hair was shining and damp, falling past her shoulders in a riot of glistening curls. And she was wearing his clothes. Of course, he had guessed that she would, since her only other option would be to wear what she had come over in, which would have included one of his shirts anyway. Even so…

She had found one of his few t-shirts, the dove gray material was soft and worn from age, tumbling to the tops of her thighs. He didn't exactly remember owning a pair of field shorts, but he must have because she was wearing them, leaving her shapely legs relatively bare. She wasn't wearing a bra, Jareth noticed—not sure whether to send up his thanks to God, or whether to curse the Devil for his temptation—and he could easily make out the generous and unsupported curves of her breasts. It was unfair, really; the best he could do was walk around without a shirt on, which was tempting but blunt, but Sarah could go prancing through the house without a bra, which was simply inhumane because he now knew _exactly_ what that flimsy t-shirt was hiding from his hungry eyes. Overall the effect was devastating: a young, freshly showered woman being swallowed by the larger clothes of her lover.

_His_ clothes. _His_ lover.

"Breakfast?" Sarah interrupted his thoughts before they could go spiraling any further into territorial musings.

He nodded his head toward the table, not yet trusting himself to speak. What to say, anyway? They had been apart for less than half an hour, each minute a small eternity, and he hadn't the slightest clue if he had thought about anything other than murdering the toaster or how sexy Sarah probably looked in the shower.

"You really need to go grocery shopping," she said, making an attempt to fill the drowning silence.

Jareth joined her at the table, handed her a cup of coffee, and gazed at the meager meal. His laptop might declare him to be a world-famous author, but his refrigerator declared that he was either a starving artist or on a hunger strike. "I could always steal food from you," he replied before he could stop himself.

Sarah stared at him from across the table. It was obvious that the poor man was giving himself a hard time. When she had first walked into the kitchen he had looked like he was ready to jump her, but a reserve had settled in and she had seen him thinking. Now he had let slip words that could hint at a future when it was obvious he didn't know what to really think of the situation.

Well… that just wouldn't do. Sarah Williams had a mission and a growing soft spot for the blond writer. She was still leery about the Goblin King, especially after deciphering his message, but he and Jareth were theoretically the same person so she was sure that everything would work itself out in the end. Her novelist just needed a little nudging away from heavy thoughts; he had commitment issues, but it wasn't like she was sitting at his breakfast table asking him for an engagement ring.

"So that's the operation you run," she teased, "ply a girl with sex and then raid her kitchen? You do that too often and I won't have any food either, you know."

He looked bewildered at first, but Sarah saw the exact moment he finally understood. It was flippant comment charged with undertones. 'It's okay,' was the message that laid underneath the gentle barb. 'You don't know what to make of any of this, but I still want you around.'

The atmosphere lifted after that; Jareth returned to the teasing and playful man that she was used to, though, after the first few snide remarks that drew a snarl out of her, she wasn't too sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

* * *

Ludo slunk out of the kitchen, deciding that even his human deserved privacy when he was with his mate. It wasn't like danger was going to come bursting through the window, not if Sarah was around anyway.

Silent paws brought him to the front room, where he curled up on an errant chair to keep a watch on the door. It wasn't easy being a self-appointed guard-cat, the urge to sleep or hunt dust bunnies was often overwhelming, but something in his furry brain told him that things were not well with his human. Out in the murky cosmos that stretched beyond the door of his home, _something_ stalked the blond one.

It was simply unacceptable, he sniffed regally; his pride as a cat would not allow anything to come between him and the cozy lap he had grown accustomed to.

* * *

Sarah began to wonder if they were ever going to talk about the new dimension of their relationship _before_ they ended up having sex again. Or rather, for the third time, she amended.

She wasn't even really sure why it had happened this time. Doing dishes was not, traditionally, considered a seductive action. They hadn't been kissing or even talking about sex, like before. The only way the mood could have been _less_ conducive to intimate relations was if a giggling toddler had been sitting in the room. One minute she had been drying a plate and the next minute he had been pressed against her.

_She nearly dropped the plate when she felt Jareth wrap his arms around her, tightening the steely limbs until she was tucked firmly against his front. "What are you doing?" she asked, trying to hide the breathy note that slid into her voice whenever he touched her._

_His head popped over her shoulder, and he growled, "I'm being jealous of a damned piece of crockery." Sarah was about to ask him what exactly that was supposed to mean, but he had started to nuzzle his lips up and down her neck, and she would have been the worst sort of liar if she didn't admit that it distracted her immensely._

_In Sarah's, admittedly limited, experience, men generally had chapped lips, and it had always annoyed the hell out of her. But not Jareth; his lips were like warm velvet as they smoothed over the length of her throat, parting occasionally to get a taste of her skin. She might have made a noise then, whimpering at the feathery light caresses, because he growled low in his throat and began to gently pry the plate out of her clenched hands._

"_Let go of the plate," he murmured carefully, the words vibrating against her sensitive flesh._

_She shook her head. "I'm doing the dishes," she stuttered dumbly, not quite processing how he had gone from meandering in the kitchen to necking. "Besides, you're just going to do something perverted."_

_His lips paused over a spot atop her shoulder. "I should think it would be even more perverted if you insisted in holding on to that thing." The image that rose to her mind was, to put it mildly, laughable. "Besides, you like perverted."_

_The plate disappeared from her hands and landed in the half-filled sink before she felt herself being turned around. Sarah wasn't sure if it was catching sight of the large bruise she had left of Jareth's shoulder from the night before or the heated look that crackled through his gaze that caused it, but suddenly her mind was filled with every last detail from their previous encounter—the way he felt, the way he tasted, how the muscles in his thighs and lower back had flexed in the most mouth-watering way possible, that adorable little rumbling noise he made as he came down from the high of climax—and it was impossible not to want him again._

_It went just as quickly, just as urgently as the night before had; they barely even made it to a couch in the next room over before they were trying to tear each other's clothes off. Not even a few minutes after that he was sliding into her, hot, hard, and _wonderful_. _

_Time seemed to stop as he began thrusting, and for a moment the urgency cleared, leaving her to simply enjoy the gentle ebb and flow of pleasure. It was a natural rhythm, slow but inexorably leading toward an end. Desire, though a sluggish fire in her blood, was beginning to build. He was behind her this time, hands clenching and massaging the flesh of her hips, and, though she missed the solid strength of having one of his shoulders to latch onto, being caged by all that lean muscle was exciting. _

_His hips shifted, finding a new angle that tore strangled mewls out of her throat. The rhythm shattered, and her urgency came flooding back._

_Sarah wasn't sure how exactly she became aware of it—in the harder, more erratic way his hips thrust forward; how he leaned over her back, trapping her against the sofa and let his wicked teeth and lips lock on the side of her throat; or perhaps in the way that the very air around them seemed to be charged with something electric—but she knew that if she could look over her shoulder right now it would be the Goblin King looking back at her. After a while he released the skin from his mouth and moved his lips to her ear. He began to whisper to her; first in languages and words she didn't understand then in sensual, possessive words that she did._

_It was both the single sexiest moment of her life, and the single scariest. She could feel the power behind her, building and swirling through the air, trying to find a way out of whatever prison it was trapped within, and the man who controlled it was riding her body. But that very same power seemed to caress her skin, to stroke heated paths between her thighs and up her back, held her hands clenched to the sofa, but encouraged her to move back on him when he thrust forward. Pleasure danced from synapse to synapse, and all the while was the whispered promise that it could be this good forever._

_It wasn't long before both of them spiraled out of control._

Which led Sarah back to where she was now: slumped over Jareth and a sofa, and pretty certain that they had just been shot back to square one.

Jareth, for his part, almost had the grace to be embarrassed. Becoming jealous over the gentle, meticulous way she rubbed the dishes dry was definitely a new low for him. Then again, Sarah could hardly breathe without him becoming aroused, so it wasn't _that_ much of a low. The woman did something witchy to him. He was also almost embarrassed by the fact that they'd had sex on his couch like a couple of horny teenagers—someone like Sarah deserved the textural heaven of silk or velvet sheets—but was mostly prevented by the knowledge that he had done it in much worse places in the past. Honestly, the fact that they were even in his house was a mark in his favor.

The actual sex was a little hazy, just like last time, more of an overriding feeling than a series of actions. He did remember the words though. Some of them had been little more than sounds, no more comprehensible to him than they had likely been to her, but after that… Jareth wasn't entirely sure what had possessed him to say such things, to try and claim a woman's soul with words as he claimed her body, but they had sounded _right_.

And still did.

It was time to face facts. He had gotten jealous of an inanimate object, and not even one that she had been showing a particular fondness for. What would he do if he ever saw her with another man, potentially one that she _liked_? He'd go crazy, that's what. The very thought left a bitter and angry feeling swirling inside Jareth's head. Things were moving fast, life was changing, but was that necessarily such a bad thing if it meant having his drugging little nymph?

Sarah stretched lazily, muscles protesting the movement. "We'll need to talk eventually, you know," she sighed. "This is the second-"

His hand wove through her hair and fisted in the silky strands, tilting her head up to meet his heavy lidded gaze. "My lover," he said simply.

"I never hold a man to pillow-promises," she replied. "Some things just get said in the heat of the moment and it wouldn't be fair to hold anyone to it." That, and the fact that he hadn't exactly been the same man when he had made said promises. "So we really need to talk about this."

Jareth shook his head, tightening the arm wrapped around her waist, anchoring her to him. "_My_ lover," he said again, simple but with an emphasis that could not be mistaken.

And, slowly, Sarah began to realize that _was_ him talking things over. Somewhere between sex and the Goblin King, Jareth had made up his mind about their relationship and it seemed to be weighing in favor of His Highness's agenda.

* * *

Ludo hunkered down in a laundry basket, ready for a nap. Whatever his human and Sarah had done while mating had staved off the namelessness that was stalking them. It wouldn't stay away for long, these sort of things never did, but long enough for him to relax his guard.

* * *

Byron slept, curled up in a shadowy corner of Sarah's porch, and dreamt of a young boy, with golden hair and flashing blue eyes, running through a _very_ long maze.

* * *

A/N: This chapter was brought to you by The Happy Head-Smashing Desk Corporation; supplementing your writers' block with massive headaches since the creation of the phonetic alphabet!

On a side note: yes, I do know that cats don't have mates the way wolves or ducks would, but it was the easiest way for Ludo to relate that concept, so I kept the word. P.S.- I think velvet would actually give you rug-burn in places you'd rather not get it.

A very large thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. I never imagined this story would become so popular!

Please Review!

Disclaimer: Henson, Fraud, Bowie; take your pick. Also, Ludo's narration at the beginning bears some resemblance to The Librarian from the Diskworld novels, so a nod to Terry Pratchett as well.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Ciren Didymus was not a man given to worry, his natural levity often overriding such inclinations. But lately it felt as though his whole life was made of worry, and this chapter was perhaps the most distressing of all.

His loyalties were being called into to question…

Didymus had known Jareth for many years, long before the boy had ever become the Goblin King. He had witnessed the trials and tribulations of youth, the tears of a young man losing his parents much too soon, the follies of childhood romances, and all the mistakes that had led up to his eventual takeover of the goblin monarchy; he had felt the sorrow and the pride that the boy's own father had not been able to.

…But the problem was that his loyalties were on a fence.

Granted, he hadn't known Sarah for very long, a handful of stolen hours at best, but he had become her knight, all the same. With Sarah he had witnessed a simple joy for life and all it had to offer, had seen her grow—not in terms of years, but in terms of maturity—gone from a child to a young woman in the blink of an eye; for her, Didymus had felt pride that her parents would never be able to share.

Two children, brought together for the second time in ten years and somehow making it work this time. Destined.

Didymus had the capacity to be merciless, anyone did when it came right down to it, but he _would not_ choose between the two closest things he had ever had to children of his own. There had to be a middle ground, something that Hoggle wasn't considering. There had to be some way around the Wise Man. If the Labyrinth had taught him one thing it was there was _always_ another path to be taken.

* * *

Jareth watched as Sarah blew out a gusty sigh against his chest. "That doesn't bode well," he murmured jokingly, trying to read her eyes for a sign of what had caused it.

She had wanted to talk about where their relationship was going, he had promised that they would, but in the end he had been the only one to say anything. A one-sided declaration that she was _his_ Sarah wasn't exactly a discussion, even by his own standards. Still, the thought that she would want to broach the subject again made him uneasy; for once in his life he was committing to something that wasn't his writing, and it was almost unbearable to think that she might not wish to do the same.

She nipped sharply at his chest and gave him a comically evil look. "You're not getting rid of me that easily," she threatened as though she had read the worries on his mind. "But I do have to go to work eventually; it's already three hours past opening and I can't really afford to keep the shop closed right now."

Jareth's arms tightened around her waist. "And if I don't want to let you go?"

Sarah wiggled on top of him, her womanly curves stimulating an imagination that didn't really need any further help to plunge into all that was basely sensual. "Then you'll have to buy some groceries because I'll be moving in after my business goes under," she replied, arms fishing behind her back to grab hold of his hands.

He hummed and pretended to think about it. "Deal," he grinned, not budging when her hands tried to pry him away from her.

Sarah paused and stared at him in something akin to shock. "You really don't do things by halves, do you?" came her breathy question.

Jareth massaged the swells of her hips, running teasing fingers over the twitching muscles. "I find I rather like the idea," he said, pulling her further up his own body so that her head was nestled against his shoulder, and ignored the shiver it caused to ripple through the both of them. "I couldn't get you out of my head this morning," he whispered wickedly into her ear. "You were in the shower and I kept wondering what it would be like to be there with you. Would you let me at your front or keep your back to me? How much more irresistible would all this smooth skin look when slicked down with soap? Would you tease? Force me to watch as bubbles hug and caress every inch but not let _me_ touch?" He bit the cartilage of her ear and gently tugged at the delicate skin with the tips of his canine teeth.

Sarah shivered. The sensual jumps in conversation that Jareth made were bewildering, but so very fascinating. So few men put in the effort after having sex, that his continued seduction was as endearing as it was frustrating. Was this how the mind of an erotic author worked, or was this something that was purely Jareth? He had moved with such an animal grace in the Labyrinth, his eyes eternally filled with a deep hunger, that she began to wonder if seduction was merely a part of who he was, that the man couldn't subdue his sexuality any more than she could currently ignore it.

They were only a few groping touches away from bringing their past couple of hours together into the classification of marathon sex.

"I want that, Sarah," he continued after a moment, his voice low and compelling. "I want you just a few paces away, tempting and teasing, never so far from me that I have to wonder what you're doing. I want to be able to step behind you when you're making dinner, to get you hot and bothered and then leave you dry for a few hours until the anticipation is a living thing within you. I want to try out every little raunchy thing that I have ever put into words for imaginary couples that could never have experienced even a tenth of the attraction that flows between us."

"You just don't want to commute in order to have sex," Sarah interrupted, knowing that if he went any further they really would end up having a round on the couch again.

Jareth gave her a boyish smile. "You found me out," he joked.

Silence reigned for a few seconds, both a little leery of continuing the serious turn their conversation had taken, then…

"I really _do_ have to go to work."

* * *

Hoggle watched as the couple left the small cabin, his heart in his throat and a sick feeling in his stomach.

Sarah was wearing Jareth's clothes, the picture of a young woman in love, while Jareth kept a guiding hand to the small of her back as he led them both to his car. They talked and teased amiably, something indefinable filling the air around them. They couldn't have looked more like lovers if they had tried.

It was wrong, so very wrong. The only reason Hoggle could think of for Sarah wearing Jareth's clothes and leaving his house at such an early hour was that they had well and truly succumb to each other, made intimate promises through the union of flesh. They were lovers in ever sense of the word and it scared him.

Hoggle's heart twisted. He didn't want to hurt Sarah, she had been a bright flame in a dark hour, but…

The air around Jareth was charged with more than just a young man's eagerness for the embrace of his lady. Magic sizzled around him, slowly leaking out of cracks from somewhere deep within. And that wasn't the only change, Hoggle observed: his hair was lighter and wilder, not yet the silvery-blond mane of the Goblin King but no longer the tight blond braid of Jareth Corbett, the writer. His gait had become more fluid, his movements smoother and more predatory and the easy, liquid motions of his hands began to reflect the incredible motor skills that the Goblin King had developed over the years.

He really didn't want to hurt Sarah, but the plan was failing; so much hard work was coming to nothing because two people had managed find each other and forge a relationship at the worst possible moment. It hurt him in ways that he didn't want to contemplate, but he knew what he had to do.

Somehow, Hoggle had to get Jareth out of Maine and away from Sarah, before it was too late.

* * *

Byron had waited _hours_ to talk to The Sarah and _finally_ she was home! Unfortunately, Jareth had come with her, which meant that Byron had had to hide himself in the thick woods that surrounded the old house.

He could remember a time, years and years ago, when servants had been at his beck and call, when his clothing had always been at the height of fashion, when he had been seen with all the right people in all the right places. In light of all that, his tree-dodging felt rather undignified. Then again, in light of having been a _goblin,_ perhaps ducking behind the autumn-decaying foliage wasn't such a step down for the young lord.

Byron's palms itched at the sight of Jareth. There he was, the answer to all of the ex-goblin's problems, less than fifty yards away and yet so very unapproachable. It would be so easy, he thought, just to run up and force reality down the older man's throat, to force him to accept responsibility for what was happening, but Byron knew it was impossible. The damage that such poor handling could cause to the situation would be irreparable, a mistake that would deepen everyone's problems beyond even magic's ability to fix.

It didn't come naturally for him, but in the face of such precarious circumstances, Byron would be patient.

* * *

"You could have showered at my house, you know," Jareth offered from the other side of the bathroom door.

Sarah, slowly toweling off, tried not to snort. "I already tried that once and it didn't seem to do me any good." She could practically feel his male smugness radiating through the door. The _locked_ door; she might have been falling fast and hard for the blond writer but she wasn't stupid. Jareth had revealed himself to be altogether too fixated on the idea of her in the shower; had she left it unlocked, she knew it wouldn't have stayed a solo activity for very long. "Besides," she carried on, "I needed clothes; I can hardly show up wearing yours for the second day in a row."

"Why not?" Was that a pout in his voice? Of all the things to get off on, she thought with a roll of her eyes, the man had a fetish for putting her in his clothing.

Sarah tightly wrapped the towel around her, took a deep breath to bolster her nerves and opened the bathroom door. Jareth was leaning against the frame—his pose so similar to how the Goblin king had loomed over her in the Underground tunnels that it was almost a little creepy—with an easy smile on his lips and a lazy look in his eyes. With nothing but a towel covering her, she wasn't really sure what she feared more: his blatant desire or her repressed needs for the man.

"Because," she finally answered, a strained note in her voice, "unless there's something you're not telling me, you don't own any woman's underwear. Anyway, I prefer wearing my own clothes." It was an easy lie to tell, but a lie all the same. She loved how his shirts seemed to envelope and hug her, how they were worn in all the right places, how they carried the spicy scent of him. In all honesty he was probably never going to get back the clothes that she had worn on the short trip from his house to hers; they would be hidden away at the bottom of a drawer somewhere, taken out and worn only when he wasn't around and she wanted to feel his presence. Something about the man got trapped in his clothing, more than just his scent; it was if his very touch somehow invaded the material and wove itself into the fabric.

He bowed his head to her, but the mocking smile that played around Jareth's lips told her that she hadn't fooled anyone with her lie.

Sarah quickly made her way to the bedroom, disconcerted by how he followed her like an overgrown puppy. He reached out for her just as she was bending over to grab something at the bottom of her closet but she jerked away, smiling when he let out a playful growl. "No touching," she chided, trying to fight off her smile. "I don't have the time to spare; I _really_ have to get to work." He seemed put out for a second, but then moved away and began to snoop through her dresser, humming a cheery little tune to himself. Honestly, she thought, the man was like a kid in a candy store. She had just finished pulling her skirt on when he made a definite sound of appreciation.

"I like this," Jareth said, turning to face her and waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Sarah tried not to stare too hard at the lacy bra he was holding. "Well you're more than welcome to wear it," she replied sweetly.

He gave her a horrified look but didn't say anything, and quickly went back to pawing through her drawers.

She swallowed roughly once he had turned away. Jareth had been holding up a black lace bra and she could all too easily picture herself wearing it for him. The image played through her mind as she pulled a loose blouse on: Jareth, looking dangerous and perfect, his face contorted with a savage desire at the sight of her pale flesh peeking through the tiny gaps of the dark lace.

Dressing, which probably took all of two or three minutes, seemed to last an eternity.

* * *

Ludo jolted from his nap with a hiss. The air in the small cabin felt old and stagnant, a subtle danger rolled through the walls, and the atmosphere suddenly became oppressive.

Something _wrong_ had invaded his home.

* * *

They had made it all the way to the shop without incident so, in retrospect, she really should have been expecting something. The lights were slowly flaring to life, the sea of crystal and glass was patiently awaiting purchase, and she had just been moving away from the recently unlocked door when Jareth came behind her and pinched her ass.

"What as that for?" she squeaked, turning around while rubbing the offended muscle. What was this, some cheesy 50's movie? The man had just goosed her!

But the man that stood behind her wasn't exactly who she was expecting. Pale hair flew in a wild disarray around an even paler face; delicately, almost _elegantly_, pointed teeth peeked out of a wicked smile; magic thickened the air as the knowing and amused uneven eyes of the Goblin King regarded her. This was the first time he had surfaced outside of sex, Sarah marveled; did that mean he was getting stronger? She had been entertaining the idea that he was only able to break through writer-Jareth's consciousness when he was anchored to her. Maybe sex wasn't the best plan to free the Goblin King, but it had certainly been the most effective.

"You bit me," he replied in that smooth and low voice of his, then paused and thought about it. "Twice."

"Oh, like the massive hickey on the side of my throat doesn't make up for a little nip on the chest!" she huffed, eyes glittering in amusement. Ten years ago, she never would have been able to picture herself saying something like that to the imposing man. Now though, she realized, the lines between simple man and otherworldly creature were beginning to blur. The ethereal king came out at erratic intervals, but he was talking about something that she had done to Jareth Corbett this morning. More and more it became apparent that the only real differences between the two were magic and past memories. Somehow, that thought made it much easier to talk to the creature standing in front of her; not to say she wasn't still a little afraid of him, of what he could do, but she finally understood that the two halves made up one whole, that he was just as much one as he was the other.

"The hickey was for the bruise," he pulled the collar of his shirt aside and pointed to his shoulder; the bite mark she'd left from their first time together had turned a dark shade of purple and she had to admit that she was more than a little proud to see it there. "The pinch was for the nip. Tit for tat, minx."

"Nothing's free with you, is it?" she asked, looking him over while trying not to wonder why this wilder version of her writer was somehow sexier.

He gave her a lazy smile, sharp canines flashing in the artificial light, and a predatory look filled his blue eyes. "No," was the simple answer he gave. He seemed to consider something for a moment, then—gently, tenderly, and with great effort—pulled a crystal from the air. It was the same one she had discovered that morning, the deep purple of the Monkshood still wrapped around the fiery gold and red of the Nasturtium. The Goblin King gave her a look then, something that was eerily similar to the amused leer he had given her when they'd both stood in her parents' bedroom. "My warning?" he asked quietly, though his expression did not change.

"I'll take my chances," Sarah answered without hesitation. True, something about the magical king still chilled her, but she now knew there was much more to him than just that. She wanted Jareth, would take the good with the bad and the sexy with the scary.

* * *

Hoggle tried not to fidget before the eyes of the Wise Man. He hated asking the shriveled bastard for more help, but it was unlikely at this point that the price of his assistance could be any worse than what would happen if he didn't lend his hand.

A shaggy eyebrow rose, stretching and lifting the deep wrinkles in the ancient one's face. "Go back?" he asked curiously.

"Not long," Hoggle rushed to answer. "Only about a week or so. Just so that we can avoid all of," he waived his hand around to indicate the cabin, "this."

"Are you sure, lad, that this is what you want?" The Wise Man asked in a wizened voice.

A pause, overflowing with doubt and worry, then, "Yes."

* * *

A/N: Well, I liked _some_ parts of this chapter. What did you all think?

This chapter goes out to Kat from the Harem. It wasn't quite what I had in mind; I guess the evilness will just have to wait a chapter or two.

Please Review!

Disclaimer: I shall cling to Byron like a limpet, for he is the only thing I own within this story… well, him and Liz, but she's been absent lately.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

_Wrong, wrong, wrong!_

Ludo ducked under some shaggy underbrush as a car sped past him.

Things couldn't have been worse, he thought; the grumpy dwarf had gotten the nasty old one to do a trick, and now his human was _wrong_. He had tried to stop them, had tried to bite and scratch and growl but, in the end, it had done no good. His only choice had been to leave before he got caught up in the wicked trick too. Now he was running through the wild with no idea as to where he was or where he was supposed to go. Only one thought raced through Ludo's mind: he had to find Sarah; she always made things better.

* * *

Didymus gathered together what few belongings he had, preparing to leave the hotel. It was time to disappear for a little while, somewhere that Hoggle and the Wise Man wouldn't look and somewhere that Sarah and Byron could not find. But he would be back; when the true fight began he would be in the thick of it.

* * *

Sarah sighed and idly tapped a few keys of the ancient computer that dominated her service counter. Business was slow and it was getting hard to remember why she had shooed Jareth away.

His transition between separate consciousnesses was a little bewildering, and it wasn't always clear who she was talking to. The Goblin King seemed to know everything that happened to him while he was stuck as the writer, but Jareth only seemed to remember _some_ of the things he did when he was the Goblin King. That morning, for example, she knew he remembered pinching her ass because he had later joked about it, but he hadn't said a damn thing about the crystal that was now sitting on her counter, which led her to believe that perhaps he just didn't know anything about it. Maybe, in some way, it was impossible for him to remember things that would immediately require knowledge that only the Goblin King could possess, that if his mind could not relate things in mortal terms it simply discarded it.

Her lovely writer had surfaced not long after she had begun talking to the Goblin King and they had both managed to sorely confuse each other before Sarah realized who she was talking to. Somehow, with each transition Jareth made, the physical differences between the two men became less apparent. It was strange to think that at some point there would stop being a difference entirely, yet she was looking forward to it. The simple fact was that, though Jareth's appearance was slowly changing, his personality was not; perhaps this teasing man had been hiding under the mask of the Goblin King ten years ago and she had simply not been able to see it.

Sarah let out a sigh and pulled up a spreadsheet, temporarily putting her thoughts to the side as she once again began to review the pinch her finances were in. Things weren't looking good, to put it mildly, which was made all the grimmer because of the fact that she hadn't had a single customer since opening the shop a few hours ago. She would be able to keep the business afloat, with a little creative juggling, but definitely wouldn't be fixing her roof or getting a new car anytime soon.

She had been about halfway to the back of the store, figuring she might as well take inventory if there was nothing else to do, when the door-chime rang.

The boy who entered was probably in his mid to late teens and looked like he was ditching classes to be there. His eyes lit up when they settled on her and Sarah almost did a double take as he drew closer. At a casual glance the boy bore a striking resemblance to Jareth: a long, slightly wild mane of blond hair, sharp facial features, and a lean dancer's build. But the similarities, somehow, became more subtle as he approached; up close she could see that his eyes were an even and clear hazel, his face was more boyish, he was slightly shorter, and simply didn't possess the same mocking air as her often sarcastic lover.

"_Finally!_ It feels like I've been waiting ages to get you alone," he said once he had gotten close enough.

Sarah tried to take a subtle step away. "Do I know you?" she asked cautiously, trying to mentally gage the distance to the backroom where a handy little phone was waiting.

The boy's attention wavered for a second, catching on the same green dragon that her little goblin visitor had seemed so interested the day before. "Funny," he murmured, a cultured accent lacing his youthful voice, "it seemed so much more interesting yesterday."

She gaped at him. "_Byron?_"

He turned his focus back to her, a blank look in his eyes just seconds before a self-depreciating grin curled his lips. "Where are my manners? Oh course you wouldn't recognize me like this!" He gave a charming bow, his actions somehow paralleling the introduction he'd given her as a tiny goblin, "Lord Bunbury, at your service, but please, call me Byron."

"Lord?" Sarah asked curiously, "How on earth did you end up a goblin?"

His grin deflated a bit. "It's a long story," Byron replied in a subdued voice, "though you'll doubtlessly hear it in time."

* * *

Didymus shivered in the safety of his hiding place. The absolutely inhuman sound that the Goblin King had howled out was still rippling along magical waves. It was a sound so full of anguish and rage that Didymus figured whatever plan Hoggle and the Wise Man had settled on went well for them. He pitied them for when it would begin to go wrong because that was not the sound of a man who would be kind to his perceived enemies.

* * *

Ludo stretched his legs farther, willing the ground to pass more swiftly below him. His human had let out a sound like a fatally wounded wild animal, and it carried through the air, riding on the wind and trembling through the ground. Normal ears would never hear it, but cats had never been normal; Ludo, given his strange circumstances, was even less so.

Sarah was close. He wasn't sure how he knew, but somehow he could just _feel_ her.

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," Sarah began. "After we went our separate ways you tried to disguise yourself as a mortal but…"

After setting identities straight, the pair had moved to a set of comfy chairs in the backroom and hadn't wasted time getting down to discussing what had happened over the last twenty-four hours.

"I channeled too much natural energy from the storm last night and somehow ended up breaking the magic that turned me into a goblin," Byron supplied.

"How is that even possible?" Sarah asked.

He made an emphatic gesture with both hands, "Humans can only be _turned _into goblins, not _made_ goblins. It's a common misconception about magic; see, it can't really change what's there, only cover it up. Now, of course, after a long enough time the instincts would take over and it wouldn't really matter _what_ you started out as."

"What sort of implications would that have for Jareth then?" she asked with a frown.

"It means," he supplied with a grin, "that no matter what Hoggle and Didymus think they're doing, the Goblin King will always be prowling just under Jareth's skin. Now, there _are_ ways to subdue the magic that innately makes up that side of him, but he'll _always_ be there."

That was fantastic news, Sarah thought. Still, the memory of a human version of Didymus played in her mind, darkening her thoughts. "I didn't know Hoggle was here too. What _are_ those two up to?"

"I don't know what they're hoping to achieve, frankly," Byron said, "but it was plenty obvious that they're trying to keep him away from us so that they can keep the Goblin King aspect of Jareth sealed off and they're using the Wise Man to do it."

"And that's all you found out?" she pressed, letting out an explosive sigh when he nodded. "Damn. It's so frustrating not knowing what we're up against! I wish I knew what they were doing; I mean, they're my friends for crying out loud!"

"And if you had to choose?" the boy asked. "If you had to pick sides, where would your loyalties fall?"

"Don't ask me that, Byron," she replied in an uncertain whisper.

He gave her a gentle look, but it was full of sorrow. "I'm afraid I have to, Sarah. They're my friends too, you know. Hell, Didymus practically raised me!" His hand patted her own in a comforting gesture. "But despite that, I would still choose Jareth, a hundred times over if I had to. I hate to say it, darling, but this is war and I don't stand much of a chance working on my own, so if _you're_ not fighting for Jareth then I might as well give up right now and let the Underground rot."

She didn't want to be at war, not when the lines were drawn and people she loved stood on both sides. It sounded so awful when he said it like that. But how much more awful would it be, a tiny voice whispered from within her, to have Jareth taken away? What sort of horror would life become if she never saw him again, never got to see the flash of his blond hair, or feel the shivers that would race up her spine when he gave her a particularly heated look? Could she go back to the way life had been before she had know the pleasure of his gentle teasing and his wonderful seduction?

_Beware of conquest_, the Goblin King had warned her; _my lover_, her writer had said in that dark voice of his.

He had already made his promises to her, and she had found herself making silent promises to him in return. Hoggle and Didymus would always have a warm place in her heart, but the simple fact was that it was a heart own by Jareth.

Byron must have followed the play of emotions on her face because he didn't press her for an answer. Instead he asked, "So, any progress on your side then?"

"I've gotten the Goblin King to come out a few times, but never for very long," she answered.

"Really? How did you manage that?"

Sarah blushed at the thought of how she had done it, her blood warming at the memory. It was absolutely _not_ something she intended to share with her ex-goblin companion, but the quirking smile that he was fighting off and the knowing look in his eyes told he already knew. "Oh, you're _wicked_!" she accused. "Asking a girl to tell you something like that!"

He gave a laughing shrug. "My sense of propriety died around much the same time that society abandoned theirs." Byron chuckled at her increasing blush. "Quite the plan you've got there, binding the Goblin King through flesh. I know he writes all those torrid, sexual stories… so was he any goo-"

"I am _not_ having this conversation," Sarah interrupted with a squeak, more embarrassed than if she had been having talking with Liz. Men and women weren't supposed to talk about these kind of things outside of their own sex! Byron obviously had spent too much time around Jareth in the past because they both teased in the same way.

Her companion had, no doubt, been about to make another horrible comment when something banged loudly against the front door of the shop.

Of all the things that had crossed her mind as she went to investigate the noise, a panting and feral looking Ludo had not once come up. The poor cat looked exhausted and the way he seemed to be favoring one leg suggested that he was perhaps injured. "You poor thing," she breathed, picking him up; he immediately burrowed deep into her embrace. "What happened to you?"

Byron came up behind her and let out a low whistle at the ragged sight of the huge cat. "Looks like he picked a fight with the wrong tom," he said, but then seemed to freeze as he came around to get a better look at the animal. "_Ludo_?" His hazel eyes shot up to Sarah's green ones.

She nodded, absently petting the fur that had matted in the afternoon drizzle while she looked for a towel to dry her orange friend with.

Byron grabbed her by the shoulder. "This creature," he said very slowly, very clearly, "has never left Jareth's side while in a cat form."

Sarah frowned, the worry in her stomach fanning itself at his words. "You think something happened to him?"

A nod was her only answer.

She didn't really remember leaving the shop, didn't remember making the decision to run through a steadily increasing rain rather than just use her phone to place a quick call, but, from one second to the next, she found herself racing over slick pavement, Byron not far behind her and Ludo tucked within the folds of her jacket. By the time they reached the small cabin atop the cliffs of Owl's Head all three of them were soaked to the bone.

Dread swamped over Sarah, suffocating her. Something about the place felt wrong, like an image that had been copied by an inexpert hand that had missed all the small details that brought the picture to life.

His car was gone.

Something ugly and desperate grabbed at her then. Without even stopping to think about it she flew to the front door and slammed it open.

The cabin was completely empty.

* * *

"_I think I'm in danger of losing a lot around you, Vivian," Darrow murmured into her sweet shoulder. "My heart, for example."_

_Vivian snorted in disbelief._

Jareth snorted in disbelief as well, unable to fathom how he had written such crap. Not even ten months ago he had been flooded with ideas, inspiration buoyed by the flocks of lonely women leaving stores with his books clutched to their chests. But the praise had tapered off and been slowly replaced by a discontent murmur. When was the next book coming out? Could it possibly live up to his previous release?

He sighed and turned away from his computer to look out the window, restless gaze sweeping over the sleeping city below. As his eyes took in the varying lights and buildings he frowned, a sense of déjà vu flooding his veins.

* * *

A/N: This is what happens when people challenge me to write evil cliffhangers.

A special thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter; your encouragements made me get this one out as fast as I could!

Please Review!

Disclaimer: Anything from the movie Labyrinth is not mine. Owl's Head is a real place in Maine, though I think it's in the town next to Rockport rather than in Rockport itself.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Byron shut the door to Sarah's room as quietly as he could.

She was a strong woman, he knew; hell, she had beaten the Labyrinth! A girl who could do that wasn't someone to look down on, but at the moment she was shell-shocked. The same Sarah who had charged through the Underground like an angry lioness had just stood in the doorway of the empty cabin, eyes going distant as her gaze absently swept corners where furniture had stood only hours ago. She hadn't said anything, hadn't moved, just stood on that threshold, clutching Ludo, dripping wet and _blank_. Worried more over Sarah's reaction than the actual situation, Byron had gently coaxed her away. With a guiding arm around her shoulders, he'd slowly led them to her home, but he had known from the mechanical way she moved that her thoughts had turned inward, gone deep, and didn't look likely to surface anytime soon.

Getting them into her small home had been easy, warming up and drying off a woman who was inclined to act like a doll was not. He had done the best he could but, in the end, he'd had to concede that the most he could do without her cooperation was wrap her in some towels and let her ride out the worst of her shock in the familiar territory of her bed. Ludo had refused to leave Sarah's side, but Byron knew it was a small comfort when she'd rather be in the arms of her lover.

He meandered into the kitchen, checking once again on the soup he was heating. Byron had never been a good cook, had never even really been allowed in kitchens when he was human, and had merely scavenged for food as a goblin; he had only the vaguest idea of how to use a stove and little working knowledge of how to prepare a meal. If Sarah didn't come to her senses before they ate, Byron had no doubt that his soup would have enough of a bite to it to jolt her back into awareness. Or just make her ill. He'd take either really, he wasn't picky.

It had been a hard afternoon, he reflected as he stirred the acrid smelling liquid boiling on the stove. After he had gotten Sarah settled into her room, Byron had struck out on his own for a few hours. He hadn't felt comfortable leaving her alone with only a cat for company, especially when she was so out of sorts, but there were questions he wanted answers to before he tried to gage the situation. With a heavy heart and a silent promise to return, he had left the house in search of a few pieces to the puzzle.

His first order of business had been to retrace his steps back to the hotel Hoggle and Didymus were staying at. As expected, they were no longer there but… It was strange, he thought, that the hotel had no information of anyone named Silas Hoggleston having ever stayed there, but they _did_ have record of Dr. Ciren Didymus having checked out that very day.

_Why one but not the other?_ The thought had plagued Byron as he made his way to the scene of the crime.

Jareth's cabin had still been empty, devoid of anything to suggest that a man had been living there for the past few days. It was like walking through a ghost town, knowing that it had been a vibrant place only hours ago, but was now nothing more than gloom and dust. There had been no sign of Jareth at all but Byron could tell a struggle had taken place. The air was filled with the bitter tang of rage and the hair at the back of his neck stood on end, electrified by the dying afterglow of extensive magic.

His final stop had been Sarah's store, where he'd merely closed things tight before returning to the woman herself.

Byron stirred the soup more vigorously, hoping to diffuse the smell a little.

"I have _no_ idea what that is you're making, but I could smell it from all the way upstairs!" Sarah poked her head through the kitchen door, her nose wrinkled and a frown on her lips.

He tried not to sigh in relief at the sight of her. The woman was wearing a fresh change of clothes, looked dry and warm and not at all depressed. He frowned as her words slowly penetrated. "It's soup," Byron said plainly, ignoring the fact that it smelled awful even to his goblin-recovering senses.

"What'd you do, find a dead skunk and throw it into some Bog water?" She ventured further into the kitchen, but kept her head back as though trying to afford maximum distance from the pot while still being close enough to get a look at it.

He bristled defensively. "I'm sure it tastes better than it smells."

"_Are_ you going to taste it?" Sarah asked. "Because even _I'm_ not that brave. I'm going to order take-out; do you like chicken?"

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Byron waved the spoon at his feared concoction. He wasn't going to lie—he wasn't brave enough to try it either—but it seemed his long forgotten pride was rearing its head at her insult.

"Bury it and pray no one ever finds out," came the succinct answer.

* * *

Jareth separated his laundry, the mundane activity oddly comforting to the stress brought on by his creative slump. He'd tried writing for hours but nothing had come out and he'd finally given up in a fit of temper, deciding to do laundry instead.

His thoughts wandered as his hands went through the motions. Why was it that he was having so much trouble? What was missing that would make his work easier? Why did everything suddenly just feel _wrong_? All afternoon he had found himself turning down the wrong corridors to get to a room, had wanted to walk around furniture that wasn't there—that had _never_ been there. It was frustrating and bewildering. Perhaps he was simply losing his mind, he thought.

Jareth's hands froze on a pair of jeans. They were a faded blue, worn at the seams and the knees, and had what looked like long-dried yellow paint splattered across the hem of one leg; the style was boot-cut, a slight flare at the hips and legs. Womanly. They weren't his jeans.

He plunged both hands into the unsorted pile of dirty clothes, searching to see if there was anything else that was unaccounted for. Two fingers caught the strap of something that definitely was _not_ his and lifted it up for inspection.

It was a silky bra with black lace edging.

Jareth's eyes flared at the sight of it and something at the back of his memory tried to stir.

* * *

Sarah luxuriated in the warmth of the Chinese food she had ordered; Byron was acting a bit wary, but she wasn't sure if that was because he was still feeling a little insulted or if it was because he'd never had Chinese before.

"So," he began after a little while, "no tears?"

She looked at him confusedly. "No, should there be?"

"It is in my experience that women tend to get weepy in these sort of situations." He shifted uncomfortably and shot her a suspicious look. "Why aren't you? Weepy, that is."

Sarah shrugged, pushing her food around into little designs. "I thought about it pretty hard—"

Byron snorted.

"—and I remembered what you said about magic. It doesn't change what's really there, right? In that case, no matter what they've done to Jareth, we stand a fighting chance of getting him back. All we have to do is find out where he is." She looked uncomfortable for a moment, then admitted, "I _wanted_ to cry, very badly at first, but what good would it do me? Jareth and I have a history of bad meetings and partings; tears aren't going to change that. If the Labyrinth taught me one thing it's that I'm a fighter; so, I'll fight."

Byron shook his head. "No wonder he lost to you," he said in amazement. "No one could win against that sort of blind determination."

She smiled and turned back to her meal "So do we have any idea what's going on?" she asked while arranging spears of broccoli into a little forest of felled trees.

He watched her for a moment, as though he couldn't quite believe that he was seeing a grown woman play with her food, then shook his blond head. "Jareth's place is still empty and there is absolutely no clue as where he might have been taken. I went to the hotel Hoggle and Didymus were staying at, but they had already gone."

Sarah regarded him for a moment. Had he hesitated before telling her about the hotel? She frowned, "Something's bothering you."

"A lot of things are bothering me," he laughed, "namely the fact that the two of us have been shanghaied. It's just," he paused, a frown furrowing his elegant brow and clouding his hazel eyes. "I found something out at the hotel that's been bothering me more than anything else. They only had record of Didymus staying there, and I keep thinking, 'Why one and not the other?' It doesn't make any sense!"

"Unless they parted company," she suggested with a shrug.

Byron stared at her, his meal completely forgotten. "What do you mean?"

She looked up from her geometric arrangement of carrot slices. "Well it happens all the time, doesn't it? Two conspirators are knee-deep in a plot when second thoughts begin to surface; one of them goes on to carry out the plan while the other one goes off to find his own way of setting things right."

"How do you know these things?" he asked in amazement.

Sarah shrugged again. "Old spy movies. You have yet to discover the joy of late-night television."

"So you think Hoggle went on to get the Wise Man to do… whatever it is he did, and Didymus decided to help us instead?"

"Do you see Didymus here?" she questioned, waving a rice-covered spoon to the room at large.

Byron's spirits sank a little. "No."

"Then he hasn't decided to help us," Sarah argued. "Not yet anyway, if ever. I'm only suggesting that there's a new player in this whole mess… or rather, an old player with a new angle." She let out a sigh. "I love that canny old fox, but we don't know what Didymus is doing or what he hopes to achieve any more than we know what Hoggle's doing. It would be nice if our dear knight joined us but, for the time being, I think we'd better get used to the idea of it just being the two of us fighting this war."

* * *

Jareth wandered down the busy sidewalks of autumn-packed Boston, no destination in mind and a terrible unrest welling within him. Fall was giving its last dying breath, the sunny chill finally succumbing to a deeper cold, and he could practically _smell_ the snow that would soon pepper the air.

He had always felt a strong connection with nature, but in this case tried not to think about how unnatural that particular ability was.

The past month had been hell and he wasn't even sure why. His bewildering actions had only increased, dominated by that growing sense of _wrongness_, and he had found a few more items in his possession that he couldn't explain—like a black turtleneck sweater and a pair of underwear, both of which were obviously designed for a woman and both carrying a scent that was familiar, elusive, and downright haunting. It was a scent that brought him to painful awareness, made him viciously hungry for the woman who carried it but, of course, that was the problem. He didn't know whose scent it was, couldn't match up the clothes to any woman he had recently seen or even begin to imagine how they had gotten into his apartment.

On the nights when his inner turmoil reached nearly painful levels he would breathe in that sweet trace of gardenia and lush woman, and if he opened his mind he could almost picture the flash of challenging green eyes.

Then there had been the key, he thought with a shake of his head. It was a simple brass number that he had found shoved into the back of his desk drawer; it looked like someone's house key. He hadn't had the slightest clue as to what it opened or where it had come from, but he'd taken to carrying it around in one of his pockets. The brass had a reassuring weight to it and he periodically found his hand plunging into the depths of his pocket for the simple pleasure of closing around the tiny object.

Jareth pushed his way through the throng of sightseers and began to circle back to his apartment. He'd recently gotten into an argument with his neighbor, Hoggleston, about the benefits of a change of scenery; the older man had vehemently argued that the problem lay in _what_ he was writing rather than _where_ he was writing, and he'd had to concede that it was a rather sound point. Still, he couldn't help but feel that Boston was no longer where he was supposed to be.

* * *

"What is it we're doing, again?" Byron asked as he peered over Sarah's shoulder. A month had past with no sign of any Underground activity around them and they'd eventually come to the conclusion that it was time they started making some moves of their own.

It hadn't been an easy month on either of them. With no place else to go, Sarah had taken Byron in like the stray he begrudgingly admitted he was, and, when she wasn't at work doing everything in her power to boost the sale of her little glass treasures, was slowly helping him adapt to human life in the twentieth century. Most things were incomprehensible to him on the best of days, and he had taken a special dislike to anything involving the kitchen, but they had made enough progress that she was able to leave him alone in her home while she went off to work.

Today was one of the rare occasions that they had ventured out into the town together. Both of them were ducked behind the narrow computer station of the public library, staring at the brilliant screen of the newly implemented electronic-catalogue system.

"It just doesn't seem logical that Hoggle would work so hard to get Jareth settled into a mortal life and then yank him out of it," Sarah explained, patiently waiting for the computer to finish its search. "You can't make such a popular author just disappear like that; there would be too many questions. It seems more likely that Hoggle would just try to get him back to wherever he was before he came here, back to whatever life he had already established. That's my guess, anyway, and I'm hoping that one of Jareth's books will have a little biographic blurb in the back so that we can find out _where_ that life might be." She quickly jotted down the call numbers that came up then dragged Byron off to the stacks.

Half an hour later she had found three completely different answers. The first one had come from his debut novel, published eight years ago, saying that he lived in New York, while the second one had come from a more recent novel and proclaimed him to a Boston resident; the conflicting information was easy enough to explain by him having moved some time in the interim. It was the third one, however, that bewildered her; that novel had been a republishing of a much older volume and had declared that J Corbett was an English-born gentleman who had disappeared _three hundred years ago_.

Byron turned the book over in his hands, a faint smile playing around his lips. "I haven't seen this thing in ages!"

"You _knew_?" Sarah asked in astonishment.

He gave a sheepish shrug. "Haven't you ever wondered why he writes for a genre that is considered consummately feminine? It's because Jareth used to be a writer back when men where the _only_ ones who could get something published. He's always written romance, said it was very Shakespearian of him, that a love story written by a rake could make a woman forgive his past transgressions enough to enjoy his dubious attentions."

"God, he was always a flirt, wasn't he?" she huffed in exasperation.

* * *

Jareth tore his mouth from the woman in front of him, distaste curling his lips as he stormed out of the bar. He didn't care that he was being rude; he had a sexual itch that desperately needed scratching, but it seemed like every damn woman in all of Boston only turned him cold.

A snarl built up in him as he began making his way back to the one place he had no desire to go: home. Absently, one of his hands dove into a pocket of his jeans and he clutched the brass key that suddenly felt unnaturally heavy.

* * *

Byron held back Sarah's hair, rubbing gentle circles over her back as she was forcibly ill, and tried not to let his innate unease at the situation show.

A second month had passed them by, a solid four weeks since their journey to the library. They had spent that time between coming up with theories about 'The Hoggle Conspiracy', as Sarah had taken to calling it, and trying to find a way of figuring out _where_ in Boston Jareth might be. So far they hadn't had much luck, but both were determined not to let their lack of progress flag their spirits. He had no idea how she was still hanging on because, deep down, he knew that he was still holding on to the hope that Didymus would show up to save them.

"This is the third time this week, Sarah, and I'm not even going to count how many times you were sick last week. I think it's time to take stock of the situation, darling," Byron said softly. "You either have the most persistent stomach flu known to man or you're pregnant."

"Oh god, not like this," Sarah moaned to herself, "not when I don't know where the father is!"

He sighed in sympathy, "But you have to concede that it's a very real possibility, no matter how brief your intimate relations with Jareth were."

"I know that," she whispered, leaning back from the porcelain bowl and running a shaky hand over a concerned and circling Ludo; her face was sickly pale, 'green around the gills' as his long departed mother would have said. "We never used any sort of protection and I've had my suspicions for a couple of weeks now. I just wanted to find him before I really looked into the possibility."

"I'm going to get Didymus," Byron said after a moment.

She looked at him, confusion furrowing her brow. "How?" she asked. "_Why_?"

"I have enough paltry magic left in me to get the old fox's attention," he explained. His voice dropped then, became heated and assertive "If he really has defected from Hoggle then he's our best bet for help, especially since he seemed increasingly sympathetic as our time together wore on; I didn't want to force his hand in any way, but the situation has changed. I _will not_ have my nephew or niece born without their father."

* * *

A/N: New chapter, different cliffhanger. I apologize if this chapter seems a bit disjointed in time (my stories generally take place over a very short period, usually a week or less) but it was necessary.

So here's the deal everybody: I'm going to do my very best to get the next chapter out as soon as possible (or on time, at the very least), but I only have a week and a half before the semester is over. So I hope that this chapter will tide you over in the event that I get caught up in finals.

Please Review!

Disclaimer: Anything recognizable as having come from the movie Labyrinth is not mine.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

"_What_?" Sarah burst out, no longer feeling the sickness that had, only moments prior, laced her belly. She straightened up on the floor and pinned Byron with a disbelieving look. "Tell me you mean that metaphorically!"

He suddenly looked extremely uncomfortable. "Well," the blond teen murmured, avoiding her eyes, "in any circumstance I would say yes, but I'm afraid it's a more immediate case of genetics."

"You have been living under my roof for _two_ _months_," she growled, inching on her knees to get closer to him, "and in all that time it never crossed your mind to mention that you're the _brother_ of the man we've been looking for?"

"Jareth and I have a very rocky past," he supplied, steadying her when an uneven patch of tile caused her to pitch forward.

"Join the club!" she snapped. "I'm beginning to think that man doesn't have any sort of past that _isn't_ rocky."

Byron let out a sigh as he helped Sarah to her feet and led both of them to a couple of chairs. "You asked me once how I became a goblin," he said quietly, after they had settled into opposite seats. "I hesitated telling you because it's not a history I care to remember. However, in light of what I've just revealed, I imagine you won't let me get away with delaying this tale any further."

She paused, intrigued at how the brother of the Goblin King could end up a goblin himself. Perhaps that aspect of Jareth was a bit on the dangerous side, but the man she had been getting to know didn't strike her as someone who would intentionally cause harm to a loved one. "What does that have to do with you being Jareth's brother?" she finally asked.

"Therein lays the whole story," he replied sadly.

Sarah nervously pulled at the hem of her shirt, feeling guilty for forcing him to recount things that obviously pained him, but fully prepared to nag until she was given an answer if she really had to. For a few moments silence reigned over the small sitting room; she encouraged him to tell his tale by remaining supportively quiet while he visibly steeled his nerves.

"I suppose it would be best to start three hundred years ago," Byron began. "We were both human then, living out in the countryside of England." He paused for a minute, as though deciding where to go from there. "Jareth is my older brother," he continued, the ghost of a smile playing over his lips. "As the youngest son to a pair of titled aristocrats, I really shouldn't have been of any noble consequence. Following the lineage and birth order, Jareth would have inherited the title of Lord Bunbury, but our father broke with tradition. He despised Jareth's predisposition to dream up wonderful fictions, said that he would crumble under the responsibilities of being a Lord. So, instead, the title went to me."

"Did he hate you for it?" she asked. It would be easy to damn someone as petty, but she could remember a time not so long ago when she had hated Toby. The tragedy in all of it was that it was through no fault of the child's; she had simply felt slighted by her parents' constant attention to the baby. Her anger would have been better placed at the source rather than aimed at a convenient target, but it just hadn't worked out that way. It was unfortunate that such things happened, but it was true that the shortsighted actions of a parent could drive siblings apart.

"If he did, he never said so," Byron shrugged. "I'm tempted to think that in those early days, when we were both still children, it really didn't matter to him. We played and laughed and got into all the mischief that brothers often do."

"But?" she asked.

"But, as the years wore on, a rift began to part us." He shook his head. "To this very day I'm still not sure if it began as an intellectual difference or if Jareth finally understood and resented the denial of his birthright. I suspect it was likely a bit of both."

Sarah worried her lower lip, trying to form a picture of this secretly bitter Jareth; she couldn't do it. Even through all of his games and subterfuge, there had been something outright honest about the Goblin King, as though he wove his emotions into the very air that surrounded him. But then, she hadn't known this younger Jareth, hadn't seen what hardships he'd had to live through. Shaking the thought quickly, she asked, "What do you mean, intellectual difference?"

"It's one thing I'll never understand about my father's decision," Byron replied with a frown. "For all his dreaming, all his obsessive love of fantasy, Jareth was _always_ the planner, the schemer; he could have talked circles around a politician with hardly the bat of a lash. I spent _years_ with private tutors learning things that he just seemed to know instinctually."

"You think your father's attention was misplaced?" she questioned.

He gave a gentle nod of his head. "I loved my father dearly, but there were certain things about the man I could never understand. He cut his natural heir off simply because he harbored a dislike for the fantastic, barely even acknowledged the eldest son within his own household. I think he was blind to Jareth's true potential; after all, we both know that he made an effective Goblin King, and I rather doubt that the responsibilities of Lordship could even begin to compare to that."

"How _did_ he end up the Goblin King?" Sarah asked with a frown. "I mean, if you were both born human…" her words trailed off as the impact of that simple sentence finally dawned on her. They had both been born human, and yet one brother had ended up the Goblin King, and the other a goblin. "Oh god," she breathed, suddenly understanding why this was something Byron didn't like to reminisce over, "he wished you away, didn't he?"

The quiet melancholy that had always been lurking behind Byron's hazel eyes finally came out in full force. "It was a hard year on everyone," he explained. "Our parents had both died in a carriage accident, leaving me to inherit Lordship at sixteen and Jareth to become my caretaker at the ripe age of twenty, a time when he should have begun living his bachelorhood to its very fullest. Tensions ran high and, whether from grief or nerves, we both managed to irritate and anger one another; the servants did their best to keep us out of each other's way, but it wasn't always possible."

It sounded awful, Sarah thought. Two brothers, who had once been as close as brothers could be, driven apart by their father's prejudices and then further separated from each other in a time of grief when they likely could have used the comfort. She had a very good idea of where the tale was heading, and didn't like it one bit.

"It was just such an occasion when he said The Right Words. I had been complaining about some function or another than I didn't want to attend—and I'll never be sure if it was because of the unspoken reminder that, by right of birth, it should have been him attending rather than me, or if it was simply because he was just irritable that day—but suddenly he was glowering at me like I was the most annoying beast on the planet and saying that he wished the goblins would come and take me away."

She swallowed dryly. As someone who had carelessly wished her own little brother away, it was rather hard to hear Byron talk about what it had been like from the other end of the story. "Did he run the Labyrinth?" If he hadn't there were going to be some serious words once she found him again, something along the lines of 'heartless prick', possibly emphasized by projectile kitchenware.

Byron looked surprised, "Of course he ran!" The surprise quickly dropped into a frown. "But he wasn't as lucky as you, Sarah, and there was no one to help him along the way. He didn't even come _close_ to making it to the center of the Labyrinth."

"So you were turned into a goblin," it was a simple statement. Thinking back on her own experience in the Underground, Sarah knew that she never would have been able to come to Toby's rescue if it hadn't been for the continued help of her friends. She could almost picture the younger, frustrated Jareth taking one wrong turn after another, never getting any closer to the Goblin City or the castle it protected. For all of her blond writer's cunning, without any help the Labyrinth truly was an insurmountable challenge.

"Yes," Byron agreed. "And since Jareth didn't win, it wasn't within his rights to make any demands, but he had noticed how much the Wise Man hated serving as the Goblin King. He offered the ancient one a trade: in exchange for the throne of the Goblin Kingdom and all the powers that inherently came with the title, Jareth would allow his entire existence to ride on the outcome of every 13 hour run within the Labyrinth; if a runner ever won, his life would be forfeit and it would be the runner's right to renegotiate the contract." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, of course, the Wise Man simply _loved_ the idea. It was the ultimate gamble, pitting Jareth's skill against the determination of those who entered the Labyrinth."

"_Why_?" Sarah gasped, a frown furrowing her brows. "Why would he strike such a bargain?"

"I think," Byron began hesitantly, "that it was his intention to make amends, to find a way to make me human again. He never could though, so he spent most of those early years simply helping me retain my humanity, suspended somewhere between goblin and boy. But I felt betrayed, wounded more than I could ever express, and after a few years I moved as far from him as I could get."

"So the two of you _never_ made amends?" The idea made her heartsick.

Byron folded up on himself, and it wasn't until Sarah noticed the tears shining in his eyes that she realized how young he looked; barely at the edge of manhood, no longer a child and yet not quite an adult either. He was a boy who had suffered the loss of his parents and his brother in silence, who had never understood _why_ Jareth had done the things he had and been haunted by possibilities for centuries. "I _wanted_ to!" he wailed. "But by the time I missed my brother more than I hated him, I felt it was too late. It had already been centuries; what if he didn't care anymore?"

She stood from her seat, and quickly crossed over to him. "Oh, honey," she whispered, taking him into her arms, "he gave up the world so that you wouldn't be alone; he'd probably give it up all over again just to have you back." If only he would remember that he had a brother, she thought sadly.

* * *

_Sarah stared up at him in frightened amazement._

Jareth almost did a double take as he read over the passage that he had written earlier that morning. Never, in his entire career as a writer, had he mixed up the names of the characters he was using, not even when he'd been a green amateur.

God, the last twenty-four hours had been maddening! First, he'd lost the brass key and had had to turn his apartment upside-down looking for it. Then, out of absolutely nowhere, he'd suddenly remembered that he had a cat, one who had apparently been missing for eight weeks. Now, damn it all, some woman named Sarah was invading his writing. Everything seemed to stretch back to two months ago. It was the last time he remembered having seen Ludo; it was when he had found the key and the clothing that wasn't his; it was when he had noticed that there was about a week of time that he couldn't remember anything of; it was when his horrible restlessness had increased and, most bizarre of all, it was when Hoggleston had started acting downright _curious_.

_Something_ was wrong, there was no denying it at this point; the question was _what_? Amnesia, mental breakdown? Or was it something more… fantastic?

He'd had a dream the night before, and it had given Jareth the chills. There had been two of him, one the writer and the other some kind of wild creature. The wild one had had some kind of warning, some sort of news that he desperately wanted to convey but Jareth hadn't been able to understand him, and the dream had ended in a sense of frustrated confusion. As a man of the twentieth century he knew that it meant nothing but, as a writer, he gave a lot of credence to dreams. Some part of him knew exactly what was wrong, it was just that it was too difficult to explain in terms of logic and reason.

Still…

He glanced over his writing again.

…Who the hell was Sarah?

* * *

"So how do Hoggle, Ludo, and Didymus fit into the story?" Sarah asked once Byron had calmed down.

"They really were once known as Dr. Ciren Didymus and Silas Hoggleston; Hoggle was our gardener and Didymus was something of a glorified butler. Ludo, as you've probably guessed, really was just a cat once," he answered. "After Jareth became the Goblin King, he went back to the mortal realm to tell them what had happened and… well, you know that they're like. They demanded to come with, and have been living Underground ever since."

"Until now," she interjected. " What is it that they're doing? I mean, based on what you've told me, it should be _my_ right to decide what happens to Jareth since _I'm_ the one who made it through the Labyrinth!"

He nodded. "It still is your right," Byron said solemnly, "you just have to find the Wise Man. I wouldn't recommend facing him alone though; I know he doesn't look like much, but the old one is dangerous. First, however, I'm going to go find Didymus."

So they were back to that. "It's just a waist of time if he's not going to help us," Sarah sighed.

He poked her belly. "I already told you, Sarah: you _are not_ having this child alone," Byron told her obstinately. "As another man of the seventeenth century, and one who holds to honor very dearly, I'm positive Didymus will agree with me. You said yourself that it was likely he's no longer working with Hoggle; if that's truly the case then I think he'll not only tell us what's going on, he'll probably take us to Jareth himself."

In that moment Byron looked like his brother, she realized. He had his feet splayed apart and his hands on his hips, a fiery look in his eyes and a stubborn set to his jaw. She almost pitied Didymus, who was about to become the focus of all that determination; hopefully the old fox would be easy to persuade because she wasn't sure what depths her houseguest would sink to in order to have his way.

* * *

Perhaps he was simply being paranoid, Jareth thought to himself, but he had noticed that every time he mention his unsettling thoughts and experiences around his portly neighbor, Hoggleston had a tendency to get defensive. The only reason Jareth could think of for such a reaction was that, somehow, Hoggleston was involved with the cause of those strange events. Eager to test the theory, he corned the old gent out in the hall that stretched between their apartments.

After a completely mechanical and banal exchange of pleasantries, Jareth leaned against his front door and said, "I have a cat."

Hoggleston dismissed the strangely blunt statement. "Of course you do," he grunted, "you always have."

"The funny thing about that though," the blond one mused darkly, "is that I didn't know it until just this morning." Jareth kept his eyes glued to the old man, radiating a knowing air for maximum discomfort. It was a subtle tipping of his hand really; 'I know that you know what's going on, and I'm going to make you damn uncomfortable until you confess' was the message that his eyes conveyed. His neighbor looked shifty, but remained silent. "He's been missing for months and I didn't remember him enough to realize that. I wonder why that is?" he asked in a way that was only pleasant on the surface.

"Cats!" Hoggleston burst out. "You know how they are!" he said in an overly loud voice with a dramatic roll of his eyes, then, with a hurried nod of his head, spun around and ducked into the safety of his own apartment.

Jareth's eyes narrowed, watching until his neighbor had disappeared into the apartment next door. Well, he thought to himself, _that_ certainly seemed to prove his theory, didn't it?

* * *

Byron had left the house for less than ten minutes before he returned with Dr. Ciren in line. Didymus had barely taken a look at her before pronouncing that she was definitely pregnant, and had spent that last hour fussing and cosseting over her. It was right around when he started trying to coax her into having lunch that Sarah lost her patience. "Right now, I need Jareth more than I need a sandwich," she snapped.

Didymus looked taken aback, then sighed. "Yes, of course, you're right."

"We know he's in Boston, Ciren, but where?" Byron asked.

"And what's happened to him?" Sarah added.

Didymus ran a hand over his neck, moustache twitching, and replied, "Perhaps it would be best to hear this from Hoggle. I have a plan on how to fix things, but we will need to confront the dwarf before we can face the Wise Man."

With that, the walls began to melt away.

* * *

Hoggle leaned against his door, heart pounding. Jareth hadn't been able to fit back into his life as easily the second time around; he was much more restless and volatile. Despite that, they'd been making some progress; he hadn't set a single foot outside of Boston and had seemed to be getting back into his writing. Today, though, had been downright spooky. He's stood in the hallway, the very picture of casual grace, with a predatory light shining through his eyes and an unspoken accusation flavoring the air. No matter how human the ex-Goblin King became, there always seemed to be something within him that knew about the otherworldly events surrounding his life. That part had been closer to the surface today; maybe Jareth didn't know what was going on, but he did know who was causing it.

Dangerous, Hoggle decided, things were getting dangerous. Jareth was beginning to distrust him, wasn't likely to listen to his advice anymore, and the dwarf knew that he couldn't deflect some of the responsibility of the plan off to Didymus because the old fox had up and disappeared. The entire situation was riding on a single pair of shoulders, and Hoggle was beginning to suspect that he couldn't do it alone, not when Jareth was second-guessing his intentions.

With a weary shake of his head, Hoggle limped to the kitchen. Stupid cat, he cursed while setting a kettle to boil; he'd finally managed to get that damned brass key away from the boy and now the remembrance of that mangy orange beast was stirring up things that could render their last two months of progress completely pointless! 'What would Sarah do?' he wondered. The answer came faster than he would have liked: 'Beat you with a stick. She may have forgiven a betrayal once, but she won't do it again.'

As though his thoughts had been a self-fulfilling prophecy, the air around him began to ripple. Hoggle scuttled sideways out of the kitchen as the air thickened and became a lazy mist. He almost ran straight for the door when Didymus, Byron, and Sarah emerged from the fog.

Didymus looked oddly grim-faced and determined when he said, "I believe it is time for a little talk, my brother. The plan has changed."

* * *

Jareth shivered right down to the marrow of his bones, his senses sharpened, and a fierce hunger flared within him.

* * *

Hoggle had spent several minutes making lame evasions before everyone finally settled into his living room for an explanation. Sarah had him pinned with an expectant look and, while he was absolutely thrilled that she didn't seem to be overtly hating him, he felt defeated by the knowledge that Didymus was right: things had changed. The air around Sarah was charged, a quiet magic slowly wrapping itself around her, nourishing and protecting her. It wasn't the sort of magic that was often used, except for in the case of pregnancies. Innocent little Sarah was with child, and that magic was undoubtedly Jareth's so there wasn't much of a question as to who the father was.

"It wasn't malicious or nothing," he began in a quiet voice. "At first, we weren't sure how you would want to deal with Jareth, so we got to the Wise Man before he could get to you."

"We struck a deal," Didymus continued for him, "and the Wise Man agreed to give Jareth back his mortal life starting from the moment it had bee taken from him. The magic and memories that made him the Goblin King, however, were not things that could be taken away if he was to live, and we were told that it would take eleven years before the seal on them would fully solidify; after that, he was guaranteed a normal life, but until then it was our duty to watch over the boy to make sure nothing brought out the side of him."

Sarah tried to piece it all together in her mind, everything she had learned from Byron and everything she was hearing now. "But why?" she asked. "I just don't understand why you wanted to do this."

Hoggle pinned her with his watery blue eyes. "Have you ever seen three hundred years catch up to a man in a single instant?" he asked seriously.

She shook her head.

"Neither have I," he answered, "and I never want to. But, if the Wise Man completely released Jareth from his contract, that's exactly what would happen. I reckon he'd go from an arrogant bastard to a pile of bones faster than you could blink."

The thought made her completely sick, but what Hoggle was trying to say was not lost on her. "You've been trying to save him this whole time?"

"Well what did you _think_ we were doing?" he asked in his customarily grumpy manner.

"Frankly, the two of us weren't sure what the hell you were up to and, you'll have to forgive us, we were rather inclined to believe it was of a nefarious nature," Byron cut in from his seat on an ottoman. "You could have asked for our help, or told us what was going on at the very least," he added with an angry frown.

"Ah," Didymus replied heavily, "unfortunately, that was part of the deal we struck with the Wise Man. In exchange for his help we were to keep Sarah completely out of the proceedings. He's afraid of her, you see; Jareth he had a leash on, by virtue of the terms of the contract, but Sarah was a wild card in the game." He shook his head, "If we had told you, Byron, you would have told Sarah."

"It's a moot point now," she interjected, "but why didn't you ask for my help? I understand why you didn't at first—I probably wouldn't have been kind to Jareth at all—but when we were all in Maine, I thought it was pretty clear that I would to anything I could to help him."

"Because you want to help him become the Goblin King again," Hoggle defended. "We're just trying to give him a shot at a normal life and-"

"He gets stuck in his ways," Didymus apologized to Sarah, cutting off Hoggle's tirade before it could start. "At first he was too worried to ask for your help, and then he was just too proud to. I wanted to see the boy get another chance at life," he stated, "but the further along with the plan we got, the more I began to feel that we weren't doing the right thing. Once you were involved I was absolutely certain that there had to be another way and, now that you're pregnant, we haven't much choice other than to break faith with the Wise Man."

Byron shifted on his ottoman. "You said you have a plan?"

The wiry, foxish man nodded.

"Good," Sarah spoke before he could explain, "but first, I have a question." She turned her attention back to Hoggle. "What the hell did you do two months ago?"

He looked resigned to failure and yet, at the same time, relieved to no longer be the one in charge. "Sent him back about a week or two," he replied, "to some time just before he ran back into you."

"The Wise Man can't do that," Byron stated in confusion.

"No, he can't," Didymus agreed. "It was a power that Jareth developed wholly on his own, which was why we couldn't send him back to his original time in the first place. When the ancient one says he's sending things back in time, what he really means is that he is replicating the conditions that it would have been in at that time."

Hoggle nodded. "Locked away the memories that hadn't been there before he'd met you again, moved everything in his cottage back to Boston, and tried to strengthen the cracking seals that were keeping the magic trapped." He sighed. "It wasn't a very good job, though. There were things in Jareth's house that belonged to you and they got poofed back to Boston with everything else; I swear he's been holding on to that stupid door key like it's a lifeline. He's been getting more restless too; something in him knows that things aren't right, that there's something he can't remember, and it looks like the Wise Man didn't put much effort into repairing those seals, because he was looking pretty Goblin Kingish when I saw him half an hour ago."

* * *

Jareth paced the length of his sitting room, energy flooding through him. Something was about to happen, something big; he could practically taste it. The brass key had often given him a feeling like this—as though someone important was just out of reach, waiting on the shadowed peripheries—but this was mush more intense. Where the key had given him a feeling akin to the nervous rush of caffeine, what he was experiencing right now was more like the electric and eerie silence that descended in the calm before the storm.

A determined knock beat against the door and he quickly moved to open it. Crowded around the narrow opening were four people, but he only took notice of the woman who had knocked. She was curvy and petite—probably fit perfectly under his chin—with pale skin and a light dusting of freckles. Her hair was long, flowing down her back like a curtain of melted chocolate, and her eyes were a vibrant emerald green—sparkling, challenging, accusing, _knowing_ eyes. The sight of her caused everything in him to tighten, to awaken and hunger. It was her scent, though, that brought him to painful awareness; a gentle hint of gardenia and lush woman, the very scent that had permeated the clothing he'd found, the scent that he had lusted after and been tortured by for the past two months.

Who was this woman?

Her peach-perfect lips parted, a pale tongue nervously darting out to wet them. It was a gesture that he had seen a million times in countless seduction, but the fact that she had meant it as an innocent gesture was perhaps what made it so painfully appealing. She parted her lips again, and Jareth nearly cursed because there was no doubt in his mind that her voice would be as enslaving as a Siren's song. "I'm pregnant."

He blinked and the moment of enchantment broke; he certainly hadn't been expecting to hear that. "Congratulations. Do I know you?" His eyes darted behind her, to a boy that looked frighteningly familiar; surely he wasn't the father, he looked young enough to be in high school!

Something in him cracked and strained to be free.

Her eyes narrowed and the nervousness that had been playing around her vanished. With a straight spine and an angry sigh, she pushed her way into his apartment. "I'm Sarah," she answered firmly.

Jareth's senses ran wild. Sarah, like the woman who had snuck into his writing? What the hell was going on?! The moment he had seen her a beast had opened predatory eyes within him and had been howling for her ever since; it was the same beast that had howled for the woman who belonged to those clothes he had found. The same woman; he was willing to bet that the brass key belonged to her as well. Now she was standing in the middle of his sitting room—a voice within him whispering that she belonged there, deep within his territory—so close he could practically taste her, if it weren't for one thing. _Someone else had gotten to her first._ His dream woman was barely an arm's length away, pregnant with someone's child.

Another crack, more straining. The beast howled savagely.

"And, yes, you do know me," Sarah continued, interrupting his introspection, "since it's your child that I'm carrying."

He stared at her for a moment, then replied, "I beg to differ, Madame, since less than three minutes ago we were perfect strangers." And yet something at the back of his mind was clicking. While the denying words left his mouth, he was filled with brief images: a flash of dark lace peeking out of a white shirt, a kiss that was as consuming as it was electric, a glimpse of flesh meeting flesh and a sense of intense triumph. _My lover_, the words echoed from a dim corner of his mind, accompanied by the unsettling knowledge that there was a week of time in his life that was completely unaccounted for. Was it possible that he had known this woman then?

Her eyes narrowed further and she seemed to be considering her words very carefully. "This baby is yours Jareth, whether you remember the moment or not." His mind whirled, another hint of flesh meeting flesh consuming his senses; promises had been made, decisions reached, possessive claims staked. She continued on, heedless of the sudden storm gathering in his mind, "Now get up off your ass and help me raise this baby or, I swear to God, I will marry someone else who will bring the kid up as their own and you will _never_ set eyes on your child!"

_Someone else?_ The thought erupted in his mind furiously. _Some else to touch and take of that woman, to raise the baby that was really _his_?_ Never.

The cracks spidered out and broke, releasing the strain and freeing the beast. Power flooded his veins, sweet and addicting. Memory after memory wove itself back into his mind, connecting events and filling in gaps that he hadn't even been aware of. Jareth looked out at the world through different eyes, eyes that knew and saw _everything_. And there she was at the eye of the storm, he thought once his gaze settled on her, his precious Sarah; he couldn't stop the slightly inhuman growl that tore itself from his throat at the sight of her. There would be hell to pay for those who had kept them apart, who had taken away his lover _and_ his unborn child.

The angry, possessive thoughts simmered through him, gratifying in their intensity and coupled with the knowledge that he now had the power to seek revenge. His planning didn't get very far, though, before the small room was plunged into darkness.

* * *

A/N: Dialogue heavy… I apologize if that's not your cup of tea (one chapter left!). In other news, I'm sorry for the delay. I really wanted to get this chapter out fast, but I had an essay, finals, move out, and a last minute trip over the weekend to visit my grandparents. Summer decided to start with a bang, I guess.

A new poll is up in my profile (for those of you who haven't already voted) and I'd really love for you guys to cast your opinions, though I have to admit that the question may be posed more out of idle curiosity than any actual intent.

This chapter is dedicated to Shadow D'hampyr, because I literally wrote the scene in question just minutes before you reviewed, making me wonder if you are in fact psychic. I hope this lived up to your expectations!

Please review!

Disclaimer: Anything recognizable as having come from the movie Labyrinth is not mine. Byron, the occasional interloper—Elizabeth Carver, and the baby belong to me, though I can't say the baby makes much of a difference in terms of original characters.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

He had been born millennia ago, back in a time that humans could no longer remember. A time when the mythical had roamed the mortal realms, free to do as they pleased. The humans had adapted though, found ways to conquer and vanquish their ethereal foes, and his kind had been banished to a realm of perpetual chaos. He'd spent eons trapped in a land that knew little about permanency. The land was always shifting, moving about, leading to the rise and fall of countless creatures, each seemingly more annoying than the last. Goblins were just the latest in a long line noisome animals; before the goblins it had been an elfin kingdom, unicorns before that, and kikimoris even before that. He could no longer remember who the original inhabitants of the Underground had been, only that he had taken them over and become their king, a crown that he had held onto through every change of the unending centuries.

He was bored with life, had little patience and no heart to speak of. The only thing the Wise Man lived for these days was a good game, something to break up the creeping hours. He had been playing a rather interesting one for the past eight years, but there were new players now and the rules were starting to change.

The next few hours were bound to be interesting, as they always were when Jareth was involved. It would have almost made him happy if he hadn't been so uncertain as to what the outcome of their coming confrontation would be. It hadn't just been the memory seals that Sarah had helped him break through; Jareth was now operating completely outside the contract that they had struck all those centuries ago—the magic no longer a loaned gift, but now an inherent part of who he was—which meant that the Wise Man had absolutely no control over him anymore. Add Sarah to the obvious danger that the blond one already posed and it made him more than a little nervous; two intellectual and outright cunning people, one with more raw power than he could fathom and the other possessed of a blinding determination, together as a united front.

He didn't stand a chance of getting out of the situation alive unless they played into his bravado. The chances were slim but, then, he had always been an ardent gambler.

* * *

It was hard to know where to stand in relation to Sarah. The room had simply gone dark with little indication as to where the danger would be coming from, so Jareth had absolutely no clue where to situate himself in order to shield her from whatever was coming. A thousand little spells were clamoring from the recesses of his recovered memories, each one he had painstakingly memorized—no matter how complex—in an effort to protect those he cared for. He had been a failure as a human—he had warned his parents that the carriage they loved so dearly was in poor condition and wasn't safe to take on long rides and it had been the last thing his father had ever had the opportunity to ignore him over and not long after that he had lost his brother in a fit of mindlessness—but magic had been a second chance to make things right, to save Byron and make sure nothing ever happened to him again.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and Jareth froze, his head slowly turning to the teen that stood on Sarah's other side. Blond hair, hazel eyes, haughty features, all mind numbingly familiar. Byron, his brother. The goblin that he had spent centuries researching, learning, and perfecting magic for was human and _here_.

Something shifted in the darkness, snapping Jareth out of his blank wonder. He knew who was coming, but the question was what was the Wise Man really after and was the old man really stronger than him? Quietly, he insinuated himself between Sarah and Byron, hoping, for once in his long life, that he would be able to protect what was dear to him.

Sarah, for her part, was not particularly surprised. She'd had a feeling that the Wise Man would appear once Hoggle's plan had been blown past any chance of success, though she had been hoping for a little more time to sort things out with Jareth.

Her eyes darted to sneak a quick glance of him. He had the lean build and stance of a protective animal, but his eyes were what told the true story. The blue gaze was piercing and aware, all but screaming _angry predator_. He hedged between her and Byron, all fluid grace and keen protectiveness, like a wolf that felt as if his pack was being threatened. Power rolled off of him in waves, adding an element of danger to her already formidable writer.

There was absolutely no doubt that the Goblin King was back, she thought with some relief.

Sarah had been at a loss when he had first opened the apartment door and hadn't seen any sort of recognition in his eyes. How was she supposed to get him back? She had known, from first hand experience, that explaining the situation would have little effect; in fact, the only thing that had previously worked was having sex, which hadn't been an option since his brother and two friends were standing right behind her. At that thought her mind had done a funny little skitter and decided to go down the opposite route; passion had brought out the Goblin King before, and if she couldn't induced passion of a sexual nature then she would just have to do it through anger. Her possessive narcissist was in there somewhere and it seemed a rather good bet that he would come out for threats just as well as he would have for a little love-play.

It hadn't been hard to get angry, she'd always had a pretty active temper and the last two months had been hell, to say nothing of what had happened that very day. Sarah had already been stressed out enough from the past few weeks and then, in less than three or four hours she had faced the realization that she was pregnant with no lover or husband at her side, had been forced to swallow the bitter pill of Jareth and Byron's past, and then had finally been told what Hoggle and Didymus had been doing. She had felt rough and raw, trying to digest so much information, fighting too many emotions and sympathies and, by the time Jareth had confirmed that he didn't know her, Sarah's temper had been more than primed. Anger had fueled her, not anger at him but, rather, the situation—it was all so convoluted, everyone making bigger messes simply by trying to protect each other, all of it seeming so unnecessarily complex—and it had made it easy to stand there snapping and threatening a man that she knew was never going to give her heart back. If her sadistic idiot could make her fall in love with him and forget about her—whether it had been his choice or not—then there was absolutely no way that he was getting off without an earful.

For the most part her plan had worked well; she had seen the brief flashes of acknowledgment in his eyes with every new word. His otherworldliness had started to filter back in: the blond hair becoming more of a silvery-gold, pale skin taking on a mystical illumination, the eyes becoming less confused and more hawkish. Perhaps she had been overly giddy at receiving such wonderfully instant results, because after that the threat of all threats had bubbled out of her lips. "Now get up off your ass and help me raise this baby or, I swear to God, I will marry someone else who will bring the kid up as their own…" She knew she never would have married another man out of spite, but the words kept coming. "…and you will _never_ set eyes on your child!"

As soon as it had left her lips she had somehow known that it was the wrong thing to say, the absolute breaking point for someone like Jareth, who she had known, in a visceral sort of way, wanted children and would do everything in his power to protect them. Not to say that it hadn't had the desired effect, because in that very moment he had gone from a slightly wild looking Jareth Corbett to a snarling and furious Jareth the Goblin King, so it had certainly worked. She hadn't really meant it, in any case, but Sarah was no fool; in the few seconds before the room had been plunged into darkness she had seen the look in his eyes. The possessiveness there had sent chills up her spine and, regardless of whether there had been any truth or not in what she had snapped at him, she knew that she had goaded the animalistic core of him; had threatened to leave, to walk away, until that wildness had been driven past any thought but claiming. Underneath that, though, lurking in the corners that his higher thoughts had been shoved off to, had been a quiet steeliness that promised a long chat about what was and was not acceptable to contemplate in his presence, whether the circumstances called for it or not.

Now the situation was looking a little grim: the room had gone dark, the Wise Man was lurking behind those preternatural shadows somewhere, and she had a feeling that, though Jareth seemed ready and willing to do whatever it took to keep her and Byron safe, he wasn't going to be inclined to help Hoggle or Didymus should trouble head their way—not until after he had heard some kind of an explanation at least, and even then it was probably negotiable; he had looked halfway to a rage before the lights had been leeched out. She could only hope that the Wise Man would rely on negotiation rather than try to attack them; at the moment Sarah wasn't too sure how viciously Jareth would respond to violence, but she had a feeling that her nausea from earlier that day would come back with a vengeance if she was forced to find out. The man at her side was radiating many things; mercy wasn't one of them. Besides negotiation would work better into the plan that Didymus had roughly outlined just before they had left Hoggle's apartment.

"I have a problem," a sandpapery voice wheezed from around them. "Two broken contracts and no resolution."

"Show yourself," Jareth growled, his gaze fixed to a single point, though, no matter how much she squinted, Sarah couldn't make out whatever it was he saw there.

A gentle, greenish glow illuminated half the room, revealing the figure that stood only a few feet in front of them. The Wise Man seemed more stooped and gnarled than she remembered, his deeply lined face surrounded by a mass of coarse white hair, with eyes that looked more weary than they did piercing.

Jareth made to step forward, but she stopped him by lacing her fingers through his, wordlessly trying to convey that she had a plan. When he turned those electric blue eyes to regard her, Sarah knew she was walking a very fine line; all of their futures were riding on the outcome of this single meeting and the confrontational hellion in him didn't seem to like the idea of her facing this challenge alone. 'You forget, Mr. Goblin King,' she thought to herself, 'that I was once a confrontational brat that gave even you a run for your money.'

Sarah turned her attention back to the man before them, making sure she had a tight grip on Jareth before calmly saying, "I have a proposition for you, Wise Man."

A shaggy eyebrow lifted. "Indeed?" he asked curiously.

She nodded. "I want Jareth to stay like he is right now; I want Hoggle, Didymus, and Ludo to have the freedoms that they've exercised over the past eight years; I want Byron to be apprenticed to Jareth so that he can eventually take over as the Goblin King," she paused, trying to remember if there had been any other stipulations that someone had brought up earlier that day, "and I want you to leave us all the hell alone."

On the surface his ancient face looked amused, but there was something shifty playing around his eyes. "I hardly consider that a proposition, Miss Williams; more like a dictate. What will you give me in return?" he asked, briefly eyeing her midsection in interest.

Jareth let out a vicious curse, managed to shake his hand free of hers, and wrapped both arms around her waist in order to shield her deceptively flat belly. He was curled around her back, a wall of solid strength, and she could feel the energy building up in him as he began to snarl in a language she couldn't understand—though from his tone of voice she was willing to bet that he was cursing a rather furious and impressive blue streak right now. It was flattering in a mushy _my man wants to protect our baby_ kind of way, but distracting in a time that they could ill afford it. Heedless of the fact that her authoritative posture had been shot to hell, Sarah slapped a hand over Jareth's mouth before she turned back to the problem at hand.

The ancient one looked taken aback, and perhaps a little shaken up, from Jareth's outburst, which struck her as a little odd. After all, he was the one that had had all of the cards throughout most of this stupid game; why should he be nervous now? Unless, she thought in dawning realization, he already knew he was beaten. The unnatural darkness made sense now; he had been trying to throw them off guard, to affect an authoritative air while they were still pulling their thoughts together. The shiftiness that she had witnessed had been his own nervous unease, and Jareth's outburst had completely shattered the elder's poker face.

Sarah fought down a smile. The Wise Man was bluffing, and she was about to call him on it.

"Give you?" she mocked. "I already have given you something, Wise Man. My ring, remember? And, regardless of that fact, I still have yet to exercise my Winner's Right. You owe me, old man."

"You are far kinder than I am," Jareth growled from behind her hand, "I wouldn't have let him off with his life after that completely unwarranted implication."

And the Wise Man finally understood that Sarah Williams had come to this meeting _far_ too prepared. She had known exactly what she wanted, had already known that she had paid for it all ten years ago, and had been banking on Jareth's anger in the event that her negotiations fell through. She had him beat in both logic and strength. It had been a losing battle from the start; he had gambled on his bravado to see him through, and he had lost.

* * *

For some reason, she had never expected to see the Goblin Castle again. As a teenager and a young woman she had visited it quite often in her dreams but, even once she had run back into Jareth, had never really thought that she would ever be given a second glimpse of the eerily beautiful towers the spiraled up from the cobblestone city. Yet here she was, in a comfortable sitting room no less, trying to recuperate from the last few hours.

The Wise Man had beaten a startlingly hasty retreat after granting Sarah's demands, likely trying to get as far away from Jareth as possible. It had all seemed rather anticlimactic, really, but maybe that was because she was used to facing off with Jareth, who was the only one she had ever met that was her equal in stubbornness. Still, the Wise Man's quick getaway had been surprisingly cowardly for someone so old.

The minutes that had followed the end of the 'negotiation' had been utter chaos. Jareth had alternated between wrapping himself around her like he couldn't quite believe he remembered the sensation, grilling his younger brother for answers, and outright glowering at Didymus and Hoggle. After a while, Sarah hadn't known where to turn her attention to anymore and had managed to get Jareth to stand still long enough for everyone to decide that everything would best be talked over Underground.

That had been before the impromptu party, of course. The second that Jareth had been seen back in the Goblin Kingdom news of his return had begun spread like wildfire. In less than half an hour they had found themselves at the center of a rather exuberant celebration. By the end of the first hour, so many creatures had arrived to welcome home their king that the party had spilled out of the castle and onto the streets. Between dances with people they didn't know and strange well wishes from some seriously deranged goblins, Sarah and Byron had managed to convince Jareth—albeit grudgingly—of Didymus and Hoggle's good intentions; he didn't seem willing to completely forgive them yet, having muttered something about the pathway to hell, but his acceptance and relaxing toward them had definitely been a start.

The rest of the party had been a haze of bad puns and constant motion, strange foods and even stranger drinks—though everyone seemed particularly careful to point out to her anything that had alcohol in it, and she dutifully kept away from them though had started to tally up a mental list of things she'd like to try when she was able. At some point Sarah had lost count of the number of times she had been swept to whatever was currently serving as the dance floor, and knew she would never be able to put any names to faces, though she did remember that the tango on the stairs had been with Didymus and the strange little jig on the oak table had been with Byron. Jareth had held out much longer than she had expected but, inevitably, had begun shooing all her would-be partners away and started claiming her dances for himself.

It had taken hours to wind down, though that was hardly surprising seeing as everyone had about eight years of bottled up mischief to let out; honestly, she was surprised it hadn't gone on for much longer. After the vast majority of people had found their way out of the castle, Hoggle and Didymus had excused themselves home, and Jareth had rounded her and Byron off to a cozy little sitting room that Sarah had a sneaking suspicion was part of his bedroom suite.

"How?" Jareth—after lounging himself across a chair and managing to get Sarah settled into his lap—asked Byron. The question had been plaguing him all day. He hadn't seen his brother in ages and now, not only was he _here_, he was _human_.

Byron, sitting in his chair very properly for someone who had spent the past few hours dancing on tables more than eating on them, shrugged his shoulders. "Things got pretty bad, the land went dormant and goblins were disappearing left and right, so a group elected me to go get you back. That was when I met Sarah. After that I thought about trying to cast a human glamour to see if you would remember me…" he trailed off.

Jareth raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"I didn't have enough strength to do it, so I channeled energy from a storm. It must have been too much energy though, because it broke through whatever enchantment was used to make me a goblin in the first place." He gave a sheepish grin and said, "After that, I panicked; I had no idea how you would react if you saw me, so I thought it would be a better idea to meet up with Sarah and form a plan."

"Of course, shortly thereafter you disappeared," Sarah grumbled, elbowing him in the side.

"Not by choice," he replied, pinching her hips until she removed the offending appendage.

"And I've been staying with her ever since," Byron interrupted before the childish squabble could escalate. If Jareth were completely honestith himself he would have to admit that the thought chafed quite a bit. His brother had spent more time with his little green eyed minx than he had.

"I still can't believe you're human again," he said wonderingly, "and talking to me, at that." He paused, then said quietly, "You don't have to do this, you know. You don't have to take on the throne."

Byron cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"I was a selfish ass back then-" he began.

The younger blond interrupted, "Finally, we agree on something. And it only took you three hundred years to admit it!"

Jareth fought down a smile and carried on. "-and because of that I destroyed your life. I would never force something like that on you again, so believe me when I say that you do not have to assume this role."

"I have a debt to pay," was Byron cryptic answer before he quietly excused himself from the room.

Sarah slumped against Jareth, ready sleep now that all immediately important discussions had been taken care of. The look on his face, though, suggested he was more of a mind to go after his brother than curl up in bed with her and, after two months of sleeping alone, there was no way she was letting him leave that room.

"You've served your penance Jareth, let somebody else have a turn now," she whispered into his shoulder. "He feels guilty, and if this is how he chooses to make amends then let him. You became the Goblin King to help him, now he wants to become the Goblin King to help you, because you're going to be too busy raising our child with me."

The acceptance seemed to come slowly, and she could tell that he would likely try to talk his brother out of it few more times before he was really all right with the idea, but eventually his habitual smirk bloomed wickedly over his lips. "Child; as in singular? I was rather hoping for dozens," he pouted, tightening his arms around her waist.

Sarah snuggled further into him, feeling at peace for the first time in months. "Alright, but only if you're the one who explains to my father why his baby girl is having shotgun wedding."

* * *

**The End**

* * *

A/N: I think I might do a few one-shot follow ups but, as things stand, this is the end of Bodice Ripper. Frankly, I'm sad to see it over; I had _way_ too much fun writing this story.

I still cannot believe the number of amazing people I have met over the course of this tale; some of you came reluctantly, others plunged right in with both feet and, either way, I'm glad to have gotten to hear from all of you. It was an endeavor that lasted longer than planned and turned out to be a pretty interesting ride. Thank you all for your opinions and encouragements, and for telling your slightly crazed-looking Events Coordinator that it was an enjoyable party.

Well, ladies… On to the next story, yes?

Please Review!

Disclaimer: I've written over 65 of these things in the past year and a half. Labyrinth and all the characters thereof do not belong to me.


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